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THE DOG AND THE CHILD 
AND 

THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


>■ 




9 




With dancing eyes the stranger awaited the appreciation this 
illustrative anecdote usually won. See page ^ 2 



The Dog and The Child 

and 

The Ancient Sailor Man 


By 

Robert Alexander Wason 

AUTHOR OF “FRIAR TUCK,” “HAPPY HAWKINS,” ETC. 


a Frontispiece By Arthur Hutchins- 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


' Copyright, 1913 

By small, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 
(Incorporated) 


JAN -2 1914 



©CtA361405 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 
AND 

THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


world is full of radical talk; reaction- 
^ aries, conservatives, progressives, insurgents, 
socialists, and anarchists are all shouting with 
brazen voices that the people must rule — whether 
they want to or not. The initiative, referendum 
and recall have been advocated so vociferously 
that many perfectly contented citizens who, be- 
tween campaigns, forget that there is such a 
thing as a government, are now ready to accept 
these additional responsibilities in the same spirit 
that one purchases literature — in order to get rid 
of the book-agent: but there is one very impor- 
tant, very insistent, and very individualistic ele- 
ment in Society which is still kept in the hateful 
condition of legislation without representation 
— to say nothing of the initiative, referendum 
and recall. 

The babies — what can the babies do about the 
laws which govern them, the fashions which 
oppress them, or the fads which irritate them? 
They do not even have the right to choose their 
own parents. A congressman, good or bad, has 
1 


2 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


to pose as a target every two years, even a sena- 
tor can be reached, in a round-about way, every 
six years; but just put yourself in the place of a 
baby and consider the duration of a parent’s 
term of office ! Many babies retain their parents 
simply and solely because they have not the right 
of recall. 

A parent is not forced to pass a civil-service 
examination, he is not compelled to take the 
stump and convince an electorate that he is 
qualified to ornament the high office to which he 
aspires, he — why, there is absolutely nothing 
democratic in the proceeding at all; it is an 
iniquitous usurpation of power, and a baby is 
perfectly justified in holding nightly meetings in 
opposition to such tyranny. If ever a situation 
thoroughly justifies the doctrine of free-speech, 
certainly this relation of parent and baby does 
so in unmistakable terms, and the prejudice of 
neighbors, the brutality of landlords, and the 
agonies of artificial insomnia should not be per- 
mitted to interfere with the nocturnal demon- 
strations by which a baby attempts to express his 
opinions. 

A baby hates to be bundled up; consequently 
his raiment is of many layers like that of an 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


3 


onion. He enjoys noise, bustle, excitement, dirt, 
wild animals, strange and hetorodox foods, thrill- 
ing adventures, window sills, stairs, slanting 
porches, lakes, rivers, oceans, water-falls, red 
paint, needles and pins, scissors, strangers with 
bald heads, wooden legs, or long whiskers, fire 
engines, motor cars, circuses, and his own way 
every minute. 

What does he get? He gets a bone ring, a 
rubber ball, a cloth picture-book, and sleep enough 
to bore a mummy. If he captures a stray cat, 
fondles an unknown dog, or holds out his hands 
to the representative of some foreign and un- 
sterilized race his keepers scream with appre- 
hension and hustle him away with a brusqueness 
utterly repulsive to his innate dignity. 

The most serious complication in the present 
arrangement of parent and baby is the great 
inequality of their ages. Almost without excep- 
tion the parent is much older than the baby. 
This would not be quite so bad if they were of 
equal size, but in nearly every case the parent is 
much the larger. Judging from the treatment 
a baby bestows upon toys and furniture, it is 
safe to assume that if this matter of size were 
reversed very few parents would survive. When 


4 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


a baby has his own way he is one of the most 
angelic beings in existence; but when he closes 
his eyes, opens his mouth, strikes with his fists, 
and kicks with his feet, a parent escapes only 
by reason of his superior physical proportions. 

A baby’s voice is one of the most admirable 
productions of nature. It possesses a resonance 
peculiar unto itself, and no school of elocution 
has as yet been able to restore to a voice the 
terrific volume and carrying-power it possessed 
in infancy. The size of a baby has nothing to 
do with the power of its voice. Frequently a 
tiny, one-cylinder infant will reduce the rents in 
a neighborhood more quickly than would two 
phlegmatic youngsters liable to fall asleep every 
time they were held in a horizontal position. 

But, as previously stated, it is the great dis- 
parity in the ages of babies and parents which 
produces the antagonism between them; there is 
no mutual agreement upon any subject; there is 
invariably a clash in their viewpoints; the best 
they can accomplish is a disappointing compro- 
mise. The parent wants to sleep nights, do as 
he pleases daytimes, and regulate the baby’s con- 
duct. The baby does not want to sleep at all, 
he wants to find out what his body is for and 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


5 


how to run it, and it makes him perfectly furious 
to have all his experiments nipped in the bud. 
Many parents are earnest and conscientious, but 
their advanced age prevents them from sympa- 
thizing with the baby’s attitude, and so they sel- 
dom do the right thing at the right time. 

After all, the baby’s the thing. It is a deep 
and awful moment when one first gazes upon 
a new-born baby and remembers that the queer, 
florid, helpless little creature is a genuine indi- 
vidual, a Captain sent out under a sealed com- 
mission to take some prescribed part in the great 
battle of life. The parents do not know what this 
commission is, the baby himself does not know; 
but somewhere within him it is all written out 
and some day he will read it and know. The 
knowledge may bring him pain and sorrow, his 
parents may urge him to disobey the sealed orders 
under which he set forth, friends may council 
him to choose the easier way, his own bodily in- 
firmities may seem to stand in the way of his 
destiny; but he can have no inward peace unless 
he takes the helm of his own personality and 
steers the course which was laid out for him 
before ever he weighed anchor to sail life’s 
stormy sea. 


6 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


Therefore should parents ever be humble ; they 
cannot know just what munitions will be needed 
because they cannot know the quest. They should 
remember that parents always have been wrong 
in the past and that some of the worst explosions 
in history have come from striving to confine 
the tender strength of a psychic germ within the 
rusty iron mold of a respectable superstition. 
Babies are not made — as mission furniture, Paris 
hats, and political platforms are made — they 
grow as do the grass, the flowers, and the trees. 
Their five keen little senses reach out like tiny 
roots and take up sap they wit not of, and of 
which no parent, however wise, may know. 

One of the most blessed charms about a baby 
is that he is never blase. He may come to a pal- 
ace and find a retinue in waiting, or he may 
come to a hovel and find the preparations meager 
and hurried; but he is neither daunted by the 
shade of a stately family-tree nor by the fact 
that his grandfather's name is largely a matter 
of speculation ; he finds the world full of delicious 
mysteries and himself with a hungry zest to rush 
forth and encounter them. 

There seems at present no way to dispense with 
parents, and yet they do not, in the great majority 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


7 


of cases, meet the requirements at all adequately. 
If it can possibly be accomplished the baby arrives 
with a healthy mind in a healthy body; he is 
a direct product of nature and therefore his 
appetites and desires are natural and should be 
treated with consideration. A baby is almost 
totally without experience and consequently most 
of his incentives are instinctive. He puts things 
in his mouth, not from a vicious motive as many 
suppose, but simply because these things have 
attracted his attention and none of his earlier 
garments are provided with pockets. As soon as 
he is given pockets he stops filling his mouth with 
inedibles and proceeds to fill his pockets. 

It is always shocking to find a prig at the 
beginning of his teens or a snob at the end of 
them, for all babies have a democracy which is 
so broad and deep and generous that it invari- 
ably overlooks the barriers of age, sex, race, or 
species ; but babies are impressible and credulous, 
and this is their undoing. They are told that the 
hot sun will give them a headache, that getting 
wet will give them a cold, that stylish raiment 
will give them social standing, and unpretentious 
company will give them a bad reputation. Babies 
are so busy growing and tending to their im- 


8 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


mediate affairs that they have not time to test 
all the precepts and maxims which are showered 
upon them; and after a time they become so 
thickly covered with the moss of tradition that 
their own individuality cannot blossom. 

On the other hand, some babies are exposed 
to radical doctrines which are so new that they 
have not had time to be properly adjusted — and 
these babies certainly do have problems of their 
own to solve. A baby has a right to his baby- 
hood, this much is axiomatic. It is not fair to 
plaster him with stupid and hampering super- 
stitions, neither is it fair to coerce him into affect- 
ing an elderly deportment and looking at the 
world from the standpoint of positive science. 

The race spent a million years in the midst of 
good fairies and bad goblins, talismans which 
wrought supernatural glory and charms which 
brought overwhelming disaster, magic words and 
magic wands, and surely a child should be per- 
mitted a few years in which to enjoy the wonder- 
ful thrills of mysticism. It is a gross sin to 
confuse the delightful visions of childhood with 
base prevarication. A fact is a hard, bruising 
missile and no fact should be hurled at a child 
who is not prepared to either catch or dodge it. 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


9 


The unmodesty of some parents is both sub- 
lime and ridiculous. When a parent assumes 
that he is the climax of human progress and that 
any deviation from his methods must of neces- 
sity be wrong, he proceeds to stamp out original- 
ity without pausing to consider the anguish 
caused by an expanding idea confined by an 
authoritative mandate. Even under the anti- 
quated patriarchial system which is still in vogue, 
an idea should be met with an idea and never 
with force. When a treasured idea is confiscated 
by a parent, another and better idea should be 
given in place, and then the child feels no hurt, 
but only gain, and he rejoices in the acquisition 
of his new idea; but when an idea is grabbed 
away from him with a violence suitable to the 
removal of the cutglass dish which he is taking 
forth to use as a target, the child is filled with 
righteous indignation at the palpable injustice, 
and woe to that parent who is considered unjust 
by his own child. 

Take it in the matter of names for instance; 
a parent selects and rivets a name or names upon 
a child before the child has gained a reliable 
control over his own organs of locomotion. The 
child will have to use this name all his life ; he will 


10 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


even have to take it to school with him ! Within 
the family a name may be honored for reason 
of some beautiful character who has succeeded 
in living it down; but out in the world, and 
especially in the school world, a name is appraised 
according to its interpretation upon the vaude- 
ville stage, or the comic supplement. Many 
naturally amiable children have been reputed to 
be incorrigible perverts simply because they were 
striving to outlive the inhumanity of their own 
names. 

A name should only be given, conditional to 
the approval of the child who is to wear it. It is 
a terrible handicap for a frail youth with a weak 
chin to bear the name of a minor prophet. Aside 
from being a trifle narrow-minded, the minor 
prophets were probably a very creditable assort- 
ment of citizens; but their names do not blend 
harmoniously with modern pastimes. Doubtless, 
like the musicians of to-day, they found that 
their peculiar names lent themselves readily to 
the purposes of publicity, but these needs no 
longer exist. All strong natures are able to 
circumvent unsuitable names ; but these names are 
one of the horrors of childhood, and should never 
be given in a careless spirit. 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


11 


Of course, these idle reflections do not con- 
cern all parents. Many parents have succeeded 
in retaining enough of their own youth to sympa- 
thize with the yearnings and doubts and hopes 
and fears of all youth; and are therefore able 
to keep on friendly terms and sympathize with 
their own children — to help them to grow natur- 
ally without pedantically specifying exactly what 
the outcome must be. 

One prominent obstacle to a sweet and satis- 
fying friendship between parents and children 
is the fact that parents feel it their duty to pose 
before their own offspring as beings who have, 
soared above the follies, the vices, and even the 
inquisitiveness of life. Out of his innocence a 
child asks a question, and is solemnly told that 
he must never speak of such things. This small 
circumstance is merely laying the first brick in 
the wall which will eventually separate the child 
and the parent. 

If it were possible to stop thought with speech, 
this simple method of refusing to accept a deli- 
cate parental responsibility might be excusable; 
but a child's mind is motionless only when the 
sea is. He ponders over this curious situation in 
which he finds himself and if he is a sensitive, 


12 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


nervous child is quite likely to become sorely 
perplexed. When he realizes that his mind is 
capable of originating a subject upon which he 
must not speak to his parents, he is positively 
shocked; he has an abounding faith in their 
knowledge and wisdom and therefore he takes 
all the blame to himself and imagines that his 
true nature is of such utter depravity that it must 
be kept hidden. He finds that the one subject 
which interests him most is the very subject upon 
which he must not speak ; so, in order to keep on 
good terms with his parents he pretends to for- 
get all about the subject; but he unconsciously 
keeps his ears on guard watching for this subject, 
and he has started to practise hypocrisy before 
he knows what it is. 

In all probability, five minutes elucidation would 
have satisfied his curiosity and left him with his 
self-respect undented, but this would not have 
been the easier way. All he wanted was a little 
knowledge, and he was entitled to it. There is 
no such thing as evil knowledge — the idea is pre- 
posterous ! Evil ignorance there is, beyond ques- 
tion, but evil knowledge, never. If it is possible 
for the child to be absolutely safeguarded from 
danger, well and good, but of every danger to 
which he is exposed, he should be instructed. 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


13 


But after all, babies become pretty agreeable 
children, more or less companionable youths, and 
fairly decent adults; and most of us would prefer 
to be a member of the family to-day than during 
any previous epoch, while the future promises 
to be very much better without getting so dull 
that we shall all be bored, so there is no call to 
worry about the babies any more than is health- 
ful for our own private temperaments. 

While we have been gossiping about the parents 
of other people’s children, the baby of this book 
has managed to become a year old, and his father 
wants him to have a dog — which is just like a 
man. On the other hand, his mother — . On 
second thought we observe that it would hardly 
be the proper thing to introduce his mother into 
such a chapter as this; so her entrance will be 
reserved for the next one. 



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The Dog and the Child and the 
Ancient Sailor Man 

CHAPTER I 

D r. MILROY was a very busy man, a^d he 
also considered his wife to be a very 
superior woman. He admitted with a sigh of 
regret that the demands of his profession pre- 
vented his keeping as closely in touch with gen- 
eral topics as he wished; while his wife, who was 
truly intellectual, was fully abreast of modem 
thought. 

Mrs. Milroy^s intellect had been almost a bar 
to her marriage, and if any one of the professions 
had been able to engage her affections to the 
exclusion of all the others, this particular pro- 
fession, instead of a mere man, would have won 
her; and yet, after all, it had been a pure love- 
match. Neither had ever had a genuine flesh- 
and-blood rival and each was to a large extent 
the complement of the other. They enjoyed each 
16 


16 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


Other’s company, they respected each other — in 
fact it was an ideal match. 

A doctor is generally supposed to be something 
of an authority on the subject of babies; but 
when a doctor becomes the father of one, he has 
very little more to say about that particular baby 
than if he were a plumber. This baby was robust 
and hearty, and therefore the doctor, not being 
required as an expert, was simply an ordinary, 
everyday, also-ran father. 

Mrs. Milroy was a good mother; she longed 
for the time to come when her boy would be a 
companion to her, when she could mold his 
character, when they could engage together in 
the study of some vital subject — and so she took 
perfect care of him in order to reduce to its 
lowest possible terms the period of infancy. 
When Donald was a year old a friend of his 
father’s expressed a willingness to present him 
with a Great Dane of exactly the same age, al- 
though one would hardly have believed this after 
having considered their respective sizes. 

‘‘Certainly, Donald” — the baby was named for 
his father — “you are not in earnest in saying 
that you think a dog would be a good thing for 
the baby?” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


17 


‘‘I most certainly am in earnest. This is a 
fine fellow, too; pedigree goes back to the first 
and original Great Dane — royal stock, you know.** 
cannot see what difference this can make; 
he is still a dog.** 

‘That*s why I want him. This baby*s a boy, 
and every boy should have a dog.** 

“A dog’s habits are positively repulsive to me.** 
‘‘Have you ever owned a dog?** 

“I never have, and I never want to.** 

“Then it’s all prejudice. As a matter of fact, 
a dog’s habits are not unsanitary. A habit can 
only be reprehensible when it has a deleterious 
effect upon the individual. What would be an 
evil habit for one species might be a perfectly 
normal — ” 

“That may be true from an absolute stand- 
point; but from the standpoint of daily associ- 
ation, I very much prefer to be surrounded by 
individuals whose habits accord more perfectly 
with my own ideas of propriety.” 

Dr. Milroy smiled. “It is too bad,” he said, 
“that you cannot address a meeting of dogs. In 
my mind’s eye, I can see them gathered about 
you with their tongues lolling out in affable 
graciousness while their tails wag gently to in- 


18 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


dicate that, while they can not quite catch the 
drift of your uplifting remarks, they thoroughly 
approve of you as a well-kept human being/' 

^That is just the point; it is their tongues to 
which I chiefly object. If we had a dog it would 
lick our child's face." 

Doctor Milroy laughed with horrid masculine 
heartiness. ‘‘And doesn’t that prove what a fine, 
generous nature a dog has? I have been upon 
intimate terms with a large number of babies, 
and I am free to admit that in the majority of 
situations which you suggest, I would choose to 
be the lickee rather than the lickor." 

“Donald, you can’t be thinking of what you 
are saying ; a dog does not in the least care what 
it puts in its mouth. It will pick up a dead rat, 
an old shoe, an)d;hing at all which attracts its 
attention.’’ 

“So will a baby. Nature has provided neither 
of them with ice-tongs, and so a baby uses his 
hands and his mouth while a dog does the best 
he can with his mouth alone." 

“You always go back to nature, as though 
nature were the final arbiter of all human affairs. 
I should think, even if your responsibility as a 
father did not prompt you, your duty as a 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 19 

physician would impel you to guard your own 
child from the germs which might be brought 
to him by a dog's tongue." 

“But a dog’s tongue does not bring germs; 
a dog’s tongue is antiseptic and healing — and 
this is more than can be said of the human 
tongue." 

Mrs. Milroy tightened her lips into a thin line 
and looked severely at her husband. “Am I to 
understand that you prefer the society of dogs 
to that of human beings?" 

“Not in every case," replied the doctor with 
irritating seriousness. “I am forced to admit 
that I much prefer some dogs to some people; 
but on the other hand, I much prefer some peo- 
ple to any dog. You are making this too general, 
however; the question is not abstract but very 
concrete — shall we get this fine dog for our fine 
boy, or if not, for pity’s sake, why not?" 

“He will never come here with my consent," 
said Mrs. Milroy. 

“Who or what do you expect the boy to play 
with ?’’ 

“With whom or what," corrected Mrs. Milroy 
gently, and then said with dignity; “I expect to 
devote a great deal of my own time to his de- 


20 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

velopment. It has always seemed to me that 
babies were kept babies entirely too long, and I 
expect to eliminate several years of Donald's 
infancy.” 

‘‘Still, I think he’ll have to have a little in- 
fancy,” said Doctor Milroy, smiling. “I grant 
you that many processes can be hastened by 
forcing, but there is a limit, and it is not wise to 
ignore this limit. The youngster cannot be taught 
all the time. With whom, what, or which do 
you expect him to play?” 

“I shall, myself, amuse him.” 

“Yes, you may amuse him, and you may amuse 
the neighbors, but you can’t play with him. He 
has to have some out and out play. This is where 
the dog will come in.” 

“It is not my purpose that the dog come in at 
all. Dogs are rough, and I do not intend to have 
Donald become rough.” 

“Well, Donald is a boy, and I do not intend 
to have him treated as though he were an old 
maid! It takes a little roughness to complete a 
boy, and a dog is just exactly the correct potency. 
You never had a brother, you never had a gen- 
uine boy chum, you kept me dangling for years 
before you would accept me as a husband, and 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 21 

hanged if I don^t believe that you have some 
deep-rooted prejudice against masculinity; but I 
am determined that this boy shall be a boy/’ 

want him to be a boy, but not a rowdy; 
I want him to be quiet and gentle, chivalrous and 
refined, courageous and sincere; but I do not 
want him to have a dog.” 

‘‘A dog’s company in his youth will make him 
all these things when he grows up, and I insist 
that he have that dog.” 

‘‘I suppose you would want the dog to come 
into the house, too.” 

‘Trankly, I should; but I would not insist on 
it. I have had a dozen dogs in my time and they 
were every one gentlemen. Why, after you be- 
come acquainted with this dog we’re going to get 
you’ll be writing papers about him to read before 
your clubs. Just think of it, Mildred — this dog 
is worth five hundred dollars at the very least! 
It is perfectly silly to let an offer like this hang 
fire.” 

“I consider that our child is worth very much 
more than five hundred dollars. There are some 
values which cannot be reduced to money.” 

^'And the value of a dog is one of them. For 
countless centuries the dog has been man’s most 


22 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


faithful friend; by the lonely campfire, in danger, 
in — ’’ 

“I have heard all that many times; the ques- 
tion is, are you absolutely determined to have 
a dog?’’ 
am.” 

For a space they sat in silence while she 
cogitated upon his over-bearing injustice, and he 
pondered upon the reason-proof prejudices of 
women. Both felt keenly the strained situation, 
and each wished that the other would be sensible 
and end it pleasantly. 

Presently Mrs. Milroy arose and crossed to the 
door. At its threshold she paused and half turn- 
ing, said with stately dignity; wish you to 
know distinctly that I am inalterably opposed to 
having a dog; but as this is a man’s world there 
is nothing for me to do but bow my head in 
submission.” 

Holding her head at a still more queenly angle, 
in order to give more force to her words, Mrs. 
Milroy passed through the door, which she closed 
softly behind her. She knew that he would have 
slammed the door, and she knew that he knew 
that he would have slammed the door, and she 
knew that he would not have felt so mean if 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 23 

she had slammed the door; consequently she did 
not slam the door. 

For ten minutes Dr. Milroy sat with a scowx 
upon his brow and his lips set; he was in the 
right and he intended to remain in the right — 
but he was not comfortable. They had very 
few clashes of opinion, and therefore clashes of 
opinion were kept at a high degree of efficiency. 
When clashes of opinion become the prevailing 
order, they lose all their power to thrill. 

Presently — it seemed much longer to both of 
them, but this was owing to the high tension at 
which their nerves were fixed — presently, Mrs. 
Milroy opened the door and took a step into the 
room. ‘‘May I ask,'' she said coldly, “of what 
age is this dog which we are going to get ?" 

“Just one year old — just the age of our boy," 
replied Dr. Milroy brightly. 

“Is a dog of this age able to feed itself or 
must it be fed out of a bottle?" 

Dr. Milroy stared at her and then he — well, 
he didn't quite roar because he knew that she 
was still sensitive and he had no desire to in- 
tensify matters; but it must be confessed that his 
spontaneous laugh was just a trifle crescendo. 


24 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘^Mildred, Mildred I Why you can feed this dog 
on the mantlepiece if you want to.” 

“I do not want to; but I do want to know 
something about it. You will get the dog; but 
I will care for it — as usual.” 

‘‘Just what do you mean by that?” 

“I mean that you invariably have your own way 
and that I invariably have to bear the responsi- 
bility of it.” 

“Your sense of justice is hardly of the ideal 
type. You have your own way almost exclu- 
sively about the house ; and if you haven’t enough 
help, why do you not hire more?” 

“If you have any criticisms to make of my 
housekeeping, I wish that you would postpone 
them until some future time. At present I want 
to know the worst about this dog. What will 
it eat?” 

“Milk, mush, bread, meat, potatoes — just any- 
thing that is left from the table.” 

“Will his food have to be cut into small bits? 
It is extremely difficult to keep a servant nowa- 
days, mine suit me exactly, and I wish to know 
precisely what additional work this dog is going 
to make.” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 25 

*'0f course you won’t have to mince his food. 
How big do you think this pup is ?” 

‘"You said he could be fed on the mantlepiece, 
so I infer that he is quite small.” 

Mrs. Milroy was in sober earnest, so Dr. Milroy 
said: ‘T meant that he could stand on his hind 
legs and eat off the mantlepiece. A great Dane 
is the tallest of dogs, and this fellow is the finest 
specimen I ever saw.” 

‘‘Why does your friend wish to get rid of so 
valuable a dog?” 

“He doesn’t wish to get rid of him. You see 
I was able to do him a favor, and he — it’s Hedge- 
worth, you know.” 

“And he thinks that giving you a dog will 
recompense you for all — ” 

“There is no question of recompense. He 
does not owe me anything, and he never did. 
Simply a matter of friendship.” 

“A very one-sided friendship. Well, there is 
no way for us to arrive at a mutually satisfactory 
settlement of this matter; but at least there are 
a few restrictions to which I should like to have 
you agree.” 

“Certainly, that’s the proper way.” 

“The dog is not to come in the house, he is 


26 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


not to be taken along when I have been first in- 
vited to be a member of the party, and if he 
shows signs of viciousness, he is to be disposed of 
at once/^ 

“Agreed! And I want to say, Mildred, that, 
taking your sincere prejudices into consideration, 
you have been mighty fine about it. You will 
never regret it either.'' 

“There is one other consideration; if the child 
is afraid of the dog, you surely will not keep 
him." 

“Of course I’ll keep him. He may have in- 
herited some of your antipathy for dogs, and 
therefore if he is a little timorous at first — " 

“I was speaking of keeping the dog,” said Mrs. 
Milroy icily. 

“Well, you have been game, and I’ll be game. 
You are sincere in this and it is almost a princi- 
ple with me, so we’ll make a wager. As far as 
I know, the boy has never seen a dog; but if 
he is actually afraid of this one, I shall take him 
back. We’ll take Donald out in the yard now and 
make the test — as long as the dog is not to be 
given the freedom of the house." 

“Is the dog in the yard now ?" 

“Well, eh — you see I felt sure that you would 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


27 


consent ; so I brought him home and shut him up 
in the garage until we could — eh — consult 
about it.’^ 

am surprised that you should think a 
formal consultation necessary.” 

‘Well, this has certainly been a formal one, 
all right. Now run along like a good girl and get 
the baby.” 

Baby Donald was in a good humor when he 
arrived and gurgled and cooed and patted his 
chubby hands expectantly at sight of his father. 
The doctor took him, tossed him aloft, made 
queer throat-noises, and marched out to the lawn, 
followed by Mrs. Milroy. She was secretly proud 
of them both. 

“Now, we’ll set him here, and I’ll let the 
pup out.” 

“You’re surely not going to leave him alone 
while a strange dog — ” 

“I cannot see why you offer so many objections 
upon a subject of .which you admit you know 
nothing. I want this to be a fair test.” 

“Very well.” 

When the door of the garage was rolled back, 
a great gray form bounded forth holding in its 
mouth the tattered shreds of a laprobe. The pup 


28 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


was still awkward, his feet were still a few sizes 
too large for his legs, and any dog-lover would 
have seen that he was still in his guileless youth ; 
but to Mrs. Milroy he appeared a terrible monster 
in search of prey. She stood a few feet from 
her child with white face and clasped hands. 

The pup galloped gaily forward waving the 
ragged remnant as though it were a banner of 
victory. When he came close to the baby he 
dropped his prize, stood with feet wide apart, 
head cocked on one side, and eyes and ears fixed 
upon this new object of curiosity. 

The baby straightened his back, opened his 
eyes, and scrutinized the dog in open wonder. 
For several moments they remained thus while 
Dr. Milroy chuckled and Mrs. Milroy's heart 
beat violently. Then the dog advanced sniffing, 
the baby broke into a smile, the dog towered 
over him for another moment of indecision; and 
then — ^horror of horrors — kissed him. 

Mrs. Milroy gave a smothered cry, the doctor 
hurried forward, baby Donald pursed up his 
cherry lips for a kiss, which challenge the great 
Dane promptly accepted, and then the baby said. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


29 


'‘Ghe, goo, ooh, ooh, gurgle*/’ and clasped one of 
the dog’s legs. 

‘‘Ah-fraid?” said Dr. Milroy. “Not much!” 
Mrs. Milroy said nothing. 


CHAPTER II 


M utual admiration is the safest foundation 
upon which to build any sort of association. 
Where mutual admiration prevails no bonds are 
needed, and all is comfortable, cozy, and con- 
tented. There is no loophole for envy or covet- 
ousness to enter, there are no arbitrary rules 
which must be obeyed, all is elastic, spontaneous, 
joyous! 

Nowhere else, however, does mutual admir- 
ation flourish so luxuriantly or blossom so con- 
tinuously as in the union of a dog and a child, 
formed before the character of either has begun 
to harden. As both Donald and Olaf refused 
to be interviewed, it is impossible to state just 
what each found in the other to arouse a love 
and esteem which was not only steady, but en- 
thusiastic. 

A dog’s orbit being smaller than a man’s, his 
times and seasons follow each other with greater 
rapidity. At two years Olaf was quite a respon- 
sible party, while Donald was more of a care 
80 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


31 


than ever. Donald was beginning to babble near- 
words, while Olaf had a bark of such resonant 
confidence that no stranger ever felt like treating 
him with disrespect. 

They were fond of Dr. Milroy and welcomed 
him as an intermittent chum with peculiar 
habits but fairly correct tastes. They loved Mrs. 
Milroy because she was charming and beautiful, 
they held her in high regard because she was 
gracious and condescending, but deep in their 
hearts each felt a pang of sorrow because her 
gentility was not always tempered by reason. 

At three, Olaf had dignity, and Donald had a 
velocipede; but neither of these new acquisitions 
interfered with the generous freedom of their 
close relation. There was one interruption, how- 
ever, which cast quite a perceptible shadow upon 
Donald’s life. Ground was being broken for his 
education, and as this soil was part of his own 
individuality, the cut of the plow-share was keenly 
felt. Of course, the tasks set him were of ex- 
treme simplicity, but still they held the character- 
istics of all tasks, and external discipline is never 
welcomed except by one who expects later to 
use it as an instrument to control the action of 
others. 


32 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

Donald delighted in the stories his father told 
him at odd moments and he found a true ex- 
tension of life in the stories his mother read him 
at bedtime; but he did not enjoy sitting, even for 
twenty minutes, in his little straight-backed chair 
to learn the answers to uninteresting questions 
which had not the slightest concern with the 
life of his own initiation. 

He was a child of unusual mind, and his 
capacity pleased his mother and added greatly 
to her pride. She sacrificed much for her boy, 
and felt that her methods were being vindicated ; 
but Donald’s mind was not merely mechanical 
and absorbent, it was also given to reflection; 
and he used to spend long, serious moments with 
his head pillowed on Olaf’s gray side while he 
pondered upon the worth of so many facts and 
duties in a world which would otherwise be quite 
to his liking. 

The more his powers of perception increased, 
the more the instability of his little world im- 
pressed him. He greatly admired the fairies, 
Robin Hood, Jack the Giant-Killer, the Magic 
Rug which went wherever one wished; and it 
was with a positive pang that he was forced to 
give them up for the dreary heroes of history. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 33 

He loved his mother devotedly and there was 
no rebellion in his attempts to win her approval ; 
but he could not feel much interest in presidents, 
kings, and emperors, because he had no deep 
yearning to do the things that they did, while he 
longed to sit on a rug with his arm about Olaf’s 
neck and sail out across the beautiful Bay of 
San Francisco to that blue shore beyond, where 
the heroes and the fairies lived. 

Indeed he tried this on each one of the long, 
narrow rugs which he could roll up and take into 
the yard; but he could never say quite the right 
word, although several times he came so near it 
that the rug upon which they were resting gave a 
slight start. Not a very great start, but still quite 
enough to give one a fine thrill and to suggest 
what a splendid adventure it would be if he 
could only say the precise word in exactly the 
right tone. He had no other children to play 
with, and if Olaf was truly aware of the im- 
portant place he held, he had ample grounds for 
the lordly bearing he affected as his character 
took on the mold of maturity. 

As Donald grew he lost much of his roundness, 
he became grave rather than gay, quiet rather 
than impulsive, acquiescent rather than eager. It 


34 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


is a serious situation when one has many, many 
thoughts and no philosophy to digest them. In 
childhood the world is not merely a series of 
perfectly adjusted cogs working out together the 
eternal* principle of cause and effect. Instead, life 
is a succession of wonderful events which are 
not chained together like slaves, but which come, 
each in its own glory, to charm and please, and 
banish too much thinking. 

He answered the questions as his mother taught 
him, he did not contradict her when she said he 
was getting too big a boy to believe in fairies; 
but down below the surface he felt sure that his 
mother must be mistaken and that there was 
still, somewhere in the world, a bean which would 
grow into a mighty stalk up which he could climb 
to a more picturesque country, somewhere a 
flower which would give Olaf human speech' — oh, 
how he would love to have Olaf speak to him 
with real words! 

“Come in, son, and visit a while,^’ called his 
father one evening on his return home. 

Donald had been walking across the lawn with 
his hand upon Olaf’s back, and his face lighted 
as he hurried towards his father; but at the 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 55 

steps, he paused and pressed his cheek against 
the dog’s. 

‘'What would your mother think of that, 
Donald?” 

"She does not like to have me do it. Olaf is 
not nasty and dirty, is he, Daddy ? Why can’t he 
come in the house?” 

"Well, I don’t think Olaf is dirty, son, but your 
mother does think so, and she is a very, very good 
mother, and therefore we must not fret her about 
little things. Olaf has a nice kennel, and he 
does not want to come in the house.” 

"No,” admitted Donald after a pause, "he does 
not want to just come in the house, but he does 
want to be with me. I do wish he could sleep in 
my room, Daddy.” 

They turned into the room where Mrs. Milroy 
was sitting, book in hand, and each of them 
kissed her heartily. Donald kept his cheek pressed 
against his mother’s for a moment. "Mother, 
why can’t Olaf sleep in my room?” he pleaded. 

"Donald Milroy! Don’t you get enough of 
that dog during the day. I declare I believe that 
you would like to have him sleep upon your bed.” 

"Yes, mother, I would.” 


36 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

‘‘Donald, you play with that dog so much that 
I fear I can detect his odor upon you.” 

“Odor?” questioned Donald. 

“Yes, you are beginning to smell like Olaf. 
You must not caress him so much, and you must 
wash yourself very carefully before dinner.” 

“Why, Olaf does not smell bad; James bathed 
him yesterday, and his skin is so fine and soft 
I love to touch it” 

“Well, Donald, I did not want Olaf in the first 
place ; but if I had thought that you would become 
so foolishly attached to him as you have, I should 
have objected still more strongly.” 

“If you did not want Olaf to come, how did 
he come?” 

“Your father wanted him.” 

Donald turned and stood between his father’s 
knees looking up into his face with steady, trust- 
ful eyes. “I am glad you let Olaf come,” he said. 
“I would be very lonely without Olaf. If you 
let Olaf come when mother did not want him, 
why don’t you let him come into the house, now ?” 

This was a real crisis. It frequently happens 
that a clever child is able to entirely remove an 
offensive discipline by playing father against 
mother; and whenever there is a difference of 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


37 


opinion between parents, they should go into 
executive session and there should be no per- 
ceptible division when the order is finally issued. 
It is easier to fool a nation than a child. 

“You see, little son,'’ said Dr. Milroy taking 
Donald on his knee, “it very often happens that 
even two regular grown-ups have different 
opinions about things. At first your mother did 
not think a dog would be good for you and so 
she did not want to have one; but after we 
talked it over, she was willing to let Olaf come a 
while. If he turned out to be a good dog and 
you liked him and he was not too much bother, 
he could stay, but otherwise he would have to go 
away again." 

“Go away again ?" There was a note of posi- 
tive dread in the child's voice and his eyes were 
big and round. “Oh, Daddy, he couldn't go 'way 
again, now." 

“No, Olaf will never have to go away as long 
as he is a good dog; but dogs are careless about 
wiping their feet, and the hairs would come out 
of Olaf's coat and get on mother's nice furniture, 
and he is too big for a house-dog. Perhaps you 
would like to trade Olaf for one of these fuzzy 


38 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


little dogs? I don’t think mother would object 
to a fuzzy little dog coming into the house.” 

Donald’s brows were drawn at the painful situ- 
ation suggested by this proposition. It had never 
occurred to him before that Olaf was not as 
much a member of the family as he himself was, 
and it was a shocking and horrible thought. 
‘'Daddy, ” he said soberly and in a very low 
voice, "I — I couldn’t live without Olaf. He un- 
derstands — he understands the things I — you see, 
there’s just lots of things I don’t know how to 
ask about, and they make me feel queer ; and then 
he comes and sits real close to me and I put my 
arm around him, and — and everything seems to 
be all right.” 

There were tears standing in the child’s eyes, 
and the doctor’s lids were winking rapidly. He, 
too, had many such moments in his own experi- 
ence; he, too, knew the bitter taunting of the 
‘Svhys” that have no answer. Many a time he 
had seen a life ebbing away when it seemed to 
him that everything was crying aloud that this 
life must be held; and there were no words for 
such moments, even as now there were no words 
which would brush away the clouds of his child’s 
smaller problems; and so he acted instinctively. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


39 


even as Olaf would have done, and drew the 
boy’s head to his breast and brushed the soft hair 
away from his troubled brow. Donald gave a 
sigh as he felt the sympathy of the touch, and he 
closed his eyes so that he could the more quickly 
feel the lightness which comes when a stronger 
hand has lifted the burden from one’s shoulder. 

‘‘You won’t have to give up Olaf, little son; 
and I don’t believe that any one could keep him 
away from you. Why, some mornings when I 
leave very early, I find Olaf waiting for you, 
and he looks so lonely that I have to stop and 
pat his head and cheer him up.” 

Donald smelled of his own hands. “You don’t 
think Olaf smells bad, do you?” 

One of the menaces of childhood is its ability 
to store up a chance remark and to produce this 
remark in a perfect state of preservation at some 
future, and generally at some inopportune mo- 
ment. A child lives close to nature, no matter 
how strongly civilization is focused upon him, 
and, like the other wild things, he, too, is 
secretive. 

“Well, no,” replied the doctor with caution, 
“I do not notice any odor about Olaf; but you 
must remember, little son, that we are not all 


40 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


alike. The perfume of beautiful flowers makes 
some people sick, the bright sunshine which makes 
the world so beautiful for most of us, hurts the 
eyes of others and gives them headache; so that 
we must not be impatient if we can’t have our 
own way all the time.” 

‘‘Olaf does not like the perfume of flowers, and 
sometimes when I hold one to his nose it makes 
him sneeze ; but it never makes him sick. I wish 
I knew all you know. Daddy.” Responsiveness 
to and eager and immediate interest in a new 
subject are included among the compensations of 
childhood, and Donald sat contentedly pondering 
over the curious inconsistencies of the species to 
which he belonged until his mother told him to 
run away and dress for dinner. 

“Mildred, I am afraid that you make the child 
study too much,” said Dr. Milroy after Donald 
had left the room. 

“Donald, would you honestly prefer a baby 
who lisped brokenly and had no ideas worth lis- 
tening to ?” 

“Certainly not ; but at the same time I fear he 
thinks too much and plays too little. His face 
is getting long and thin and there isn’t enough 
merriment in his eyes. I am willing to admit 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 41 

that you have done wonders with him; but at 
times I fear he is just a little abnormal. I am 
always suspicious of infant prodigies, and he is 
beginning to have some of the symptoms. In or- 
der to build a strong and enduring manhood it is 
first necessary to establish a firm physical foun- 
dation.’" 

‘‘He seems perfectly well.’' 

“Yes, he is well; but he lacks snap and ginger. 
He is getting to be near school-age, now. Are 
you going to send him to the public school, or 
are you going to stick him in some hothouse 
affair?” 

“I can’t bear to think of sending him to a 
public school.” 

“And I can’t bear to think of him continuing 
to live shut off from his own kind.” 

“Are not we his own kind ?” 

“Not at all, not at all; we do not live in the 
same world that he does, and we can not go back 
to it. Neither can we lift him up to ours. A 
sudden jerk would tear his roots loose, and the 
only thing to do is to let him grow slowly and 
surely.” 

“Well, if he does not suit you, you show me 
another boy to equal him.’.’ 


42 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


There was evident pride in Mrs. Milroy’s voice 
and her feminine challenge was not one with 
which the doctor could effectually cope; so he 
surrendered in good order, and when Donald 
reappeared in immaculate raiment, he found his 
mother seated upon his father’s lap, and both 
were looking very happy. 


CHAPTER III 


T THINK that this lamp is just the kind, Olaf,” 
^ said Donald gravely as one morning he and 
the Great Dane sat together behind a clump of 
hydrangeas. “You see, this lamp does not give 
any light, and so it must be good for some- 
thing else. I am sure it is the very kind of a 
lamp that Aladdin used, because his was an old, 
battered lamp, you know.’’ 

The lamp in question was a bronze relic of 
curious workmanship which had been found in 
the ruins of Pompeii. It was one of his mother’s 
treasures, and though she modified it enthusi- 
astically, battered was not one of the terms she 
was wont to use. Olaf seemed hopeful of the 
lamp’s magic efficiency and willing to engage in 
any of the adventures it might bring forth; so 
Donald continued to rub industriously, and to 
wonder what the result would be. 

“I hardly know what to wish for, Olaf,” he 
said after a time, pausing in his toil to raise his 
hat and wipe his forehead. “I should like to 

43 


44 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


have the Magic Rug and I should like to have 
Jack the Giant-Killer come and I should like to 
see Sinbad. I believe I should like Sinbad best 
of all, because he would know so many, many 
stories/’ 

Just as he started to rub the lamp once more, 
Olaf rose to his feet with a low and quite gen- 
tlemanly growl; not at all in the nature of a 
threat, but merely as the modest announcement 
of his presence and to call attention to his ability 
and readiness to carry out any course of action 
which duty might dictate. 

Donald glanced up and saw a broad-shouldered 
man with tanned face, bare head, and grizzled 
beard, poised upon the iron fence to await fur- 
ther developments. The top of his head was 
bald, but as if to balance this, the grizzled beard 
which hung as a fringe from the curve of his jaw 
was curly and luxuriant. His shirt was open 
at the throat, and he had a hearty appearance and 
a twinkle in his eye. 

‘‘Your name is Sinbad, isn’t it?” asked the 
child gravely. 

The twinkle deepened in the man’s eyes, his 
whole face took on a whimsical mellowness which, 
however, seemed only to increase its sincerity. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 45 

“Well now, to be honest and above-board with 
ya,'’ he replied discreetly, “I wouldn’t just ex- 
actly say that it was. If you’d been askin’ about 
my nature, now, I might be more inclined to 
believe you was right ; but as long as you pin me 
down to rock-bound facts, I’m obliged to admit 
that I’ve never been even acquainted with any- 
body by the name o’ Sinbad ; though I can safely 
say that I have known one or two who could 
have worn the name most befittin’.” 

Here was novelty, here was freshness, here 
was a result which fully vindicated the trust he 
had placed in the lamp. He had never seen any 
one who closely resembled this stranger, he had 
never heard anyone who talked like him, there- 
fore he must have come from the mysterious 
Beyond, and Donald felt a great thrill of joy. 
“Did you come because I rubbed the lamp?” he 
asked. 

The stranger’s face was slightly rippled for a 
tiny instant, and there was a slightly jelly-like 
wobble to his chest and shoulders; but by no 
means did he laugh. He was one of those rare 
souls who recognize a situation at first sight, 
and are therefore able to pick up all the gems 
which lie along their path. “Well, I didn’t just 


46 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


know that you was rubbin’ the lamp/' he replied 
politely; ‘‘but I did feel a curious current drawin' 
me into this yard. Fll have to own up to that^ 
if it gets me in irons." 

“Where is your hat?" asked Donald. 

“Well, you see, Fm a purty tol’able heavy body, 
and while I felt somethin' sweepin' again me as 
I was tackin' up this hill, I just thought it was 
the wind and so I headed into it, as you might 
say, absent-minded; but my hat, bein' higher in 
the air felt more effect from your lamp-rubbin', 
and so it jumped over the fence toward ya. I 
started after, but I thought it wasn't no more than 
right to lay-to and see what the dog had to say 
about my cornin' in. There you have it, as neat 
as the log-book o' the Polly Murphy, which has 
been pickled in salt for the last fifty years." 

“Come on in; Olaf was expecting you, too." 

“Oh he was, was he? I wasn't noticin' close; 
but it seemed to me that, at first, he was just a 
wee mite surprised; and I was beginnin' to fear 
that he was also a leetle disappointed. If you 
think he'd entirely approve of it, why, Fll drop 
over, get my hat, and have a little chat with ya." 

“Of course," said Donald in a perfectly matter- 
of-fact tone. “There are a great many things I 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


47 


want to ask you about. Where dia you come 
from last ?’’ 

Now, it so happened that the stranger had 
always lived a life of great simplicity, and was 
not accustomed to having any one waiting to 
welcome him. It also struck him as being a trifle 
unusual that a small boy whom he had never seen 
or heard of should sit beneath some bushes in 
a large yard and rub a lamp in order to produce 
magic currents which would summon him from 
the far corners of the earth. He felt that such a 
situation demanded close consideration. ‘‘Where 
did you think I was when you rubbed that lamp ?” 
he asked, availing himself of a form which ante- 
dates every' diplomatic instrument, with the single 
exception of deliberate prevarication. 

“Well, you see I wasn’t quite sure whether 
I’d call you or Jack the Giant-Killer — and I was 
even thinking about the Magic Rug; so that I 
did not have time to think of where you were. 
Where were you?” 

“That’s a mighty cur’ous question you’ve 
asked me,” replied the stranger shaking his head 
portentiously, “and I think I’ll put on my hat be- 
fore I answer it. I don’t want to seem to doubt 
your word in the least, but if you’d just give that 


V 


48 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


lamp another rub and wish this pup o* yours 
down in the cellar with a muzzle on, why, I don^t 
mind tellin’ you, as man to man, that Td be a 
wee mite easier in my mind. It alius makes me 
impatient to have a dog bite me when I’ve got my 
clothes on.” 

‘That is funny. I should think it would make 
you more impatient to have a dog bite you when 
you didn’t have your clothes on than when you 
did; but you need not be alarmed, Olaf is per- 
fectly safe.” 

“I wasn’t worryin’ so much about Olaf as I 
was about myself,” replied the stranger as he 
picked up his hat and started toward the child. 

With a modesty so complete that it had com- 
pletely escaped Donald’s notice, Olaf had kept 
himself between the child and the stranger, and 
he had also kept a decorously sinister gaze riveted 
upon the features of the new-comer. Although 
he had appeared to perfectly understand and en- 
dorse the ceremony of lamp-rubbing, his manner 
was in reality merely the polite pretense one dis- 
plays when listening to the narcotic discourse of 
a recent convert to theosophy. To make a clean 
breast of it, Olaf did not imagine that there was 
the slightest relation between Donald’s rubbing 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


49 


the lamp, and the advent of this stranger, who 
had already rendered himself liable to the most 
severe suspicion by climbing over the fence, in- 
stead of entering at the gate as propriety de- 
manded. 

Canine philosophy divides the human race into 
two great divisions, the members of the dog's 
own family being the important portion, and these 
can do no wrong; while all other humans are 
on probation and must be removed the instant 
they presume to the privileges reserved only for 
the chosen. The stranger appreciated this and 
he held his hat in his hand as he drew near to 
the child. 

*‘Sit down,” said Donald. The stranger seated 
himself near the child, while Olaf stood behind 
the space which separated them, his head just 
above the level of the bald one which belonged 
to his master's guest. This made a fitting tableau 
for Donald's next question. ‘‘Why does it make 
you impatient to have a dog bite you when you 
have your clothes on?” 

“You're not German, are you?” returned the 
stranger who seemed to hold to the conservative 
theory that one good question deserves another. 

“No, I am not. Why?” 


50 THE D0G’'AND’:THE^CHILD 

“Well, I am about to tell you a story which 
.will illustrate the exact meanin' of the observation 
I made and which seems to have clapped the 
grapplin’ irons on your memory; and as this 
story happened to a German it can’t rightly be 
told without usin’ the German brogue which I 
wouldn’t choose to risk hurtin’ your feelin’s by, 
providin’ you were also a German yourself.” 

Donald reveled in the flavor of his new 
friend’s conversation. There was a melodious 
flow to it, the topics and their treatment were re- 
freshing ; but most of all, it lacked the condescen- 
sion of his mother’s manner which made one feel 
so small and unimportant. 

“You won’t hurt my feelings,” he said with 
new-born confidence; “tell the story.” 

The stranger cleared his throat and began: 
“Havin’ traveled all about the world and through 
part of it and over part of it” — Donald nodded 
his head in perfect understanding — “I have no- 
ticed that the tellin’ of a story illustrates a pint 
with far more eloquence than mere words can do ; 
and if you don’t believe me all you have to do 
is to say so, and I’ll take your word for it. Now, 
the pint which you queried about was why it made 
me impatient to have a dog bite me when I had 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


51 


my clothes on — and this is the story: Once the^ 
was a Dutchman which had a son by the name — 

“You said he was a German,” interrupted 
Donald. 

The stranger stared at him. “You had better 
get a paper and write down what I say,” he 
remarked with the offended dignity of an ac- 
knowledged master who resents the unsolicited 
criticism of a minor detail. “I did say it was of 
a German, and I stick to it ; but Germans is called 
Dutchmen more often than anything else — as 
you’ll find when you’ve traveled more. Well, this 
German had a son named Louie and a horse and 
a brand-new wagon. When come the fall o’ the 
year, Louie was inclined to go forth and gather 
nuts. He took six of his young friends along 
and they stripped the trees for miles around. 
When they came back to town, they came slap- 
bang again’ a steam-engine terin’ through space 
at twenty miles an hour. This was in the old 
days when engines burned wood and wasn’t in 
nowise common ; so the horse turned a couple of 
handsprings, whirled about, and tore up the street 
scatterin’ boys and nuts in every direction. Louie 
was thrown through a plate glass window, both 
arms broke, and at first they didn’t think it would 


52 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


pay to separate him from the splinters of glass, 
although this was finally done to please his mother. 
That evening a friend called at the home to in- 
quire. He knocked, and when the door was 
opened he asked as polite as a Chinaman bein' 
introduced to his future son-in-law ; “Good even- 
ing, Mr. Heigeldorfer, how is Louie ?" The old 
man wrung his hands up and down and replied, 
“Oh da Louie, da Louie is all right ! He vill get 
well ; aber da wagon, mine Cot, da wagon !" 

With dancing eyes, the stranger awaited the 
appreciation this illustrative anecdote usually 
won ; but the child sat with his brow wrinkled in 
deep study. “What does ‘aber' mean ?" he asked. 

“Why, it means — it's part of a foreign lan- 
guage, you know. It means the same as ‘but.' " 

“What does ‘mine cot' mean?" 

The sailor scratched the fringe of hair above 
his ears. “That's another part of the same 
foreign language," he explained. “It's the Ger- 
man for. Great Scott." 

“I prefer to have stories told in my own lan- 
guage," said Donald with perfect poise; “and 
besides, there was nothing in this story about 
your being bitten by a dog when you had your 
clothes on." 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


53 


''Well, shiver my timbers!'' exclaimed the 
stranger, and then after staring at the child, 
added; "if you don't like the way I tell stories, 
why don't you rub your lamp and get another 
story-teller." 

"I do like the way you tell stories," Donald 
responded ; "but I don't like the stories you tell." 

"Well, that's a fair enough compromise, as the 
pirate said when they gave him his choice be- 
tween walkin' the plank and bein' hung." 

"Which did the pirate choose ?" asked Donald. 

"This here pirate, ya understand, was that 
crafty he could steal chickens from a fox; so he 
said providin' they' give him his choice of — " The 
stranger paused and scrutinized the child's face. 
"Do you know what the yard of a vessel is?" he 
asked. 

"I don't think I do," admitted Donald. 

"Well, I don't intend to launch any more boats 
onto the dry sands of a desert," responded the 
narrator enigmatically. "The yards are the sticks 
to which the sails — there — " pointing to a brig 
anchored in the Bay — "you see that old tramp 
there, the one with the gray hull and the red 
bottom ? Well the upright sticks are called masts 
and all the cross sticks are called yards, and each 


54 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


one of these yards have different names ; so when 
the pirate says 'at he’ll choose to be hung if they’ll 
let him pick out the yard he’s to be hung from, 
the cap’n he couldn’t see any drawback to it, and 
he agrees to let the pirate pick out the yard. 
*1 know you to be a man of your word,’ says the 
pirate to the cap’n ; ‘and I know ’at you wouldn’t 
go back on what you have said here before all 
your crew ; so I’ll pick out the yard I want to be 
hung from.’ 

“He stood on the deck and looked from one 
yard to another until the cap’n felt his patience 
oozin’ away. ‘Hurry up, man,’ he says, ‘what 
difference does it make which yard you are hung 
from?’ ‘All right,’ says the pirate, foldin’ his 
arms and lookin’ sorrowful, ‘I have selected the 
yard I want to be hung from.’ ‘Which yard is 
it?’ asked the cap’n. ‘It’s the backyard of a little 
cottage in the outskirts o’ the bonnie city o’ Glas- 
gow, where me old mother’s waitin’ for me this 
blessed minute,’ says the pirate, and the cap’n saw 
he was trapped.” 

“I like this story better than the other,” said 
Donald. “Did the captain hang the pirate to the 
backyard of the little cottage?” 

At first the sailor thought this a stupid ques- 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


55 


tion ; but as he examined the yard in which he 
was sitting, and several other yards in plain view 
he was forced to admit that it was a perfectly 
logical question, San Francisco offering many op- 
portunities for successfully carrying out the pi- 
rate’s simple request; wherefore he slipped the 
clutch out of his sarcasm and replied with feelr 
ing: ^‘He did not; he asked the pirate a few ques- 
tions and found out it was his own long lost 
brother, and then he gave him a bag of gold and 
they sailed back together to the bonnie little cot- 
tage at Glasgow.” 

“That is a very good story,” commended Don- 
ald ; “but you haven’t answered my question 
yet?” 

The stranger stared at him. “I haven’t done 
anything else but answer your questions for the 
last hour,” he protested. “If there’s any ques- 
tions left which you haven’t yet asked, why, fire 
away.” 

“I asked you where you came from last ?” 

“So you did, so you did, and I replied by sayin’ 
that it was a mighty cur’ous question, which it 
still is. How does it come if you could bring me 
by the rubbin’ of your lamp, you can’t tell where 
from you brought me.” 


56 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

‘Why, you never can,’’ replied Donald in sur- 
prise. “You just rub and rub and rub, and then 
all of a sudden, whoever it was you wanted comes 
right out of the air and stands before you — ^just 
like you did. Where did you come from?” 

“That’s the curious part of it; I was sittin’ on 
a stone lookin’ into the waves and feelin’ as flat 
and lifeless as the stretch o’ beach around Hope- 
less Island. Then all of a sudden, as you said 
yourself, I felt an itchin’ up between my shoul- 
ders; and the next I knew I was dingin’ to that 
iron fence lookin’ into the eyes of your dog.” 

Donald’s face had glowed at this account, and 
when the stranger stopped he clapped his hands 
together and exclaimed: “That’s just the way it 
should happen, that’s just exactly the way it 
should happen. Perhaps you were millions and 
millions of miles from here when I started to rub 
the lamp.” 

“Perhaps,” conceded the stranger; “though I 
kind o’ doubt it mysell; a million miles bein’ 
somewhat of a voyage to be took in the time I 
spent on it.” 

“Yes, but you generally go in a boat, while 
this time you came through the air.” 

“Of course that makes a difference,” agreed 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


57 


the stranger, and then asked with sudden sus- 
picion; ''How do you know I generally go in 
boats 

He feared .that something technical in his con- 
versation might have betrayed his calling ; but the 
child’s reply set him at ease once more — "Why, 
Sinbad was always a sailor, you know.” 

"That’s so; I’d forgot about that!” 

"Yes, I’m sure that you are Sinbad. Sinbad is 
a very good name, and I am going to call you 
Sinbad.” 

"All right,” said the ancient sailor man with a 
grin, "if you have the nerve it call it to me, I have 
the nerve to answer to it. What name might you 
be sailin’ under ?” 

"My name is Donald, and Olaf is the name of 
my dog.” 

"Good names, both of ’em,” said the mariner 
heartily; "but I must say they sound sort of 
weekday-ish alongside the name of Sinbad. How 
old are you?” 

"We are both six years old,” answered Donald. 

"Both six!” exclaimed Sinbad. "Well, I’m 
surprised ! Olaf, there, looks as though he could 
make that amount of age all by himself with- 
out any help whatever from you.” 


58 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


The child regarded the serious face of the vet- 
eran curiously : “Why he does make that amount 
of age all by himself, and so do I. Each one of 
us is six years old apiece. How old are you?’' 

“I hope you’ll understand that I ain’t makin’ 
any concealments because I’ve got a tender van- 
ity, because I’m willin’ to be as out-spoken as the 
bell-bouy at Graveyard Point; but truth to tell, 
I’m not just exactly sure down to a matter o’ 
weeks and hours,” said Sinbad, combing his 
beard. “Still, I figger that we’d be pretty safe 
in estimatin’ it at somewhere between seventy- 
five and a hundred.” 

“My, that is a very great age.” 

“It does represent some livin’, I’m obliged to 
confess; although as long as we’re passin’ the 
time away by exchangin’ of compliments, I don’t 
mind tellin’ you that some of your observations 
make me feel as though you might be my school- 
teacher. Anyway, years are nothin’ more than 
the knots on a voyage. Take the cruisin’ of a 
ferryboat, for instance; a ferryboat checks up 
more knots than a tramp wind-jammer, but it 
don’t add anything in the way of longitude and 
latitude. Now, if I might be so bold as to speak 
personal without the givin’ of any offence. I’d 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


59 


say that if you’ve only been six y®ars at it, you 
certainly haven’t fallen off none from a straight 
course.” 

A shadow crossed the child’s face. ‘‘Some- 
times I do feel very old,” he said. 

“You think too much,” said Sinbad, shaking 
his head reprovingly. “Too much thinkin’ ain’t 
good for a man. Every time I catch myself 
thinkin’ beyond my gait, I go out and — well, I 
change my ways a little ; even remorse is better’n 
havin’ one set o’ thoughts filin’ away at a feller’s 
brain all the time. I don’t bother much about 
age; one thing I am certain of, I look a heap 
younger than I am, and I feel a heap younger 
than I look.” 

And this was not far from the actual condi- 
tions. Sinbad had arrived at a period when the 
years no longer had any jurisdiction over him. 
He had eliminated the first and last of the seven 
ages, and had reduced himself to an altogether 
satisfying blend of the inner five, getting a trifle 
mellower through the shifting seasons, but not a 
whit older — which, after all, is the wisest com- 
promise to make with that irritatingly scrupulous 
old codger who is constantly bustling about the 
earth with an hour-glass in one hand and a 


60 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


scythe in the other, checking up every last score 
and never overlooking a single second. Consid- 
ering the irrepressible spirits, boundless hope, and 
eager activity of fourteen, and the softening and 
humanizing effects of generous experience, it 
would, perhaps, simplify matters to say that the 
ancient sailor man was in his second fourteen, 
and having found an age which suited him per- 
fectly was prepared to maintain this age against 
all comers. 

‘‘Have you any Roc eggs ?” asked Donald after 
a short silence. 

“Any what?” 

“Any Roc eggs. I have always wanted to see 
a Roc egg.” 

The mariner combed his beard. His experi- 
ence with children had heretofore consisted 
largely of chucking them under the chin as he 
passed them on the street, tossing pennies to 
them, or dodging missiles which they had hurled 
from a safe point of vantage. 

He was at home in many lands but the children 
of all lands were aliens to him. “I think prob- 
ably it was a rock egg that Mrs. Ginger served 
me this morning,” he replied doubtfully, “and I 
still have it but you canT see it.” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


61 


“You couldn’t eat a whole Roc egg.” 

“A man has to eat something.” 

“Yes, but a Roc egg must be as big as I am. 
You know when you were in the valley full of 
diamonds, you caught hold of a Roc’s leg and it 
flew out of the valley with you.” 

“Just my luck!” exclaimed Sinbad. “When 
did this happen?” 

“I don’t know when it happened. I should 
think you would know that.” 

“Seems as if I do have a hazy memory of it, 
but I can’t quite get it clear. I think I must 
have been asleep at that time. Where did you 
hear of it?” 

“Why, it’s all in a book.” 

“Oh-oo-o? Well that explains it then. Who 
wrote this book?” 

“Sche-her-e-zade.” 

“Humph,” ejaculated Sinbad, after which he 
stroked his chin in study. “We had a Malay 
cook once who came aboard with some such a 
name as that, but we changed it to Pete. If I’d 
known he was a book-writer I wouldn’t have 
clouted him around so free.” 

“She was a lady, a queen in a harem,” cor- 
rected Donald. 


62 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


“She didn’t act like one,” said the mariner, 
shaking his head doubtfully; and then fearing 
that a longer discussion of the subject might not 
redound to his credit, he rose to his feet saying : 
“Well, I’ll have to go now; I’ve got an errand I 
have to do.” 

An anxious expression came to the child’s face. 
“You will come back, won’t you?” 

Sinbad cocked his head to one side. “That’s 
hard to tell. It took us a good long stretch of 
years to meet at all, so there’s no knowing when 
we will meet again.” 

“You must come back. I want you to come 
back.” Donald had risen to his feet and there 
was a note of wistful pleading in his voice. His 
nature had been starving for real companionship 
for so long that this appetite had become, if not 
actually abnormal, at least greatly exaggerated, 
and his lip quivered as he looked up into the face 
of his new and wonderful playmate. One hand 
held the battered lamp of antiquity, the other 
reached out and took the hand of the ancient 
sailor man. “Tell me you will come back.” 

When Nature wishes to make sure that her 
children will do certain things, she does not rely 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


63 


Upon the hazardous effects of ritual, doctrine, or 
dogma; but hides away in each being, tiny, yet 
carefully regulated determinants which invariably 
respond to the right touch. The hand of the 
ancient sailor man was rough and knobby and 
seemed as immune to sensations as the fluke of 
an anchor ; yet the small hand which rested trust- 
fully within its grasp sent up powerful pulsations 
such as he had never before felt and which made 
him feel a little wistful and lonely, himself. 

‘T ’spect even if I didn’t want to come back, 
you could rub that lamp and bring me, couldn’t 
ya?” 

“I don’t know; for sure,” admitted Donald, 
“you see I was never taught the charm and I 
can’t be quite precisely sure just what it was 
that brought you.” 

“I’m not quite sure that I like the idy of bein’ 
snapped through the air like a round-shot, so I’m 
goin’ to carry a shark’s tooth in my pocket from 
this on, as an off-set to charms.” 

“If you say that you’ll come back, I’ll promise 
not to rub the lamp any more.” 

“Still, you’d alius have it hangin’ over me and 
I wouldn’t have a minute’s peace.” 


64 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


The child considered this and his sense of jus- 
tice acknowledged the embarrassing possibilities. 
‘T'll tell you what I’ll do,” he cried, his face 
lighting, *Tf you’ll promise to come back to- 
morrow, I’ll let you take the lamp with you.” 

Sinbad looked at the relic and his appraisement 
of its value would not have established his posi- 
tion in the good graces of Mrs. Milroy. He also 
observed that the watchful scrutiny of Olaf was 
still upon him, although this did not have the 
slightest influence upon his decision — which had 
really been made some time before. “I’ll prom- 
ise to come back to-morrow, mate, and there’s my 
hand on it.” 

After a sober handshake, Sinbad climbed over 
the iron fence and down into the street. He 
looked up at the small boy standing by the big 
dog, one arm around his neck, and then he waved 
his hat and returned down the hill in the direc- 
tion from which he had come. 

“That, Olaf,” said Donald, hugging the dog 
close, “was a real adventure. I am very, very 
glad I found this lamp, and I shall put it back 
exactly where it was.” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


65 


We quarrel about methods, but after all it is 
results which count ; and it would have required a 
deal of argument to shake Donald’s confidence in 
the lamp. 


CHAPTER IV 


HE ancient sailor man arrived before he was 



^ expected the next morning, and he walked 
up and down the Scott Street hill until he was 
thoroughly disgusted. He sat on the curb but 
even this slanted at such an angle that he could 
not rest comfortably, so that he felt called upon 
to make a few remarks. Philosophy is the han- 
diest buffer to put between one’s inmost self and 
the stress of circumstances; and no man can 
grow old contentedly or with profit who does not 
take the precaution of providing his buffer with 
plenty of padding. 

‘‘Oceans now,” said the mariner, bracing his 
feet against the slope, “have been laid out with 
some judgment, but what is the sense of a hill? 
We need a certain amount of rise along the coast 
to act as a sort of rim to hold the waters, but 
what good is there in tiltin’ up a stretch of land 
like this here? It might be all right to plant a 
few mountains where there was good harbors, 
but it seems to me that hills could at least be kept 


66 




AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 67 

out of the towns. I reckon that all the good hills 
ever do is to disgust a man with livin' on dry 
land and sendin' him off to sea where he can be 
comfortable." 

Having thus marshaled his irritations before 
him, arrayed his forces of optimism against them, 
and overcome them in fair battle, there was no 
more rancor left to sour his nature, and he arose, 
crossed the narrow street and viewed the Milroy 
place from the opposite side. It was well worth 
observation, but scarcely had the lonesome mari- 
ner turned his gaze upon the yard before he 
heard Donald’s voice, whereupon he hurried 
across the street once more and climbed the iron 
fence. He stole up through the bushes until he 
saw Donald, Olaf, and the nurse together. The 
nurse was quite a pretentious individual, and at 
first Sinbad mistook her for Donald’s mother. 

‘T do not need you, Frances,’’ said Donald. 

“Your mother said I should keep close watch 
of you.’’ 

“Olaf can take care of me — my father says 
so. 

“Yes, but Olaf always lets you have your own 
way, and if you were to go out of the gate, he 
would go along, too.’’ 


68 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘‘I promise you I shall not go out the gate. I 
don’t like to have you with me all the time, I 
want to play.” 

‘T shall not keep you from playing. I shall 
read my book and you can play as you please.” 

‘That is the trouble; you don’t play, and you 
don’t read aloud, but you always stay around and 
say no to whatever I do.” 

“What do you want to do? You never acted 
this way before.” 

“Why, I just want to play. I can’t play with 
grown-up people watching me all the time.” ' 

“Well, I have a good many things to attend to 
in the house; so if you’ll promise to be a good 
boy. I’ll let you stay here alone.” 

“I will be a good boy.” 

The nurse started toward the white house, 
which Sinbad could see through the bushes, and 
Donald started toward the spot upon which Sin- 
bad had yesterday alighted from his aerial cruise ; 
but Olaf walked slowly toward the clump behind 
which the ancient sailor man was hiding. He 
walked stiffly and majestically. 

“Where are you going Olaf,” asked the child, 
but the dog did not change his direction. 

Donald, through long association, had grown 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


69 


to read actions and expressions as do the lower 
animals, and he hurried to Olaf’s side. Together 
they walked to the clump of bushes where Sin- 
bad, having seen Donald join Olaf, was now pre- 
tending to be asleep. 

Donald gave a little cry of joy as he saw the 
mariner and hurrying forward, shook him by the 
shoulder. canT do it,’’ murmured Sinbad 
drowsily, ‘T have to sail through the air in a few 
minutes.” 

“Wake up, wake up, you’re already here!” 
Donald clapped his hands together and danced 
awkwardly with the pure glee which refuses to 
be subdued. 

Sinbad sat up and rubbed his eyes, then he 
looked around and rubbed them again. “Well !” 
he exclaimed. “Where have you been all this 
time?” 

“I’ve been thinking about you every minute, 
but I couldn’t come any sooner.” 

“Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about you a heap, my- 
self. What are you goin’ to make me do this 
morning?” 

“Do you know any more stories ?” 

Sinbad looked at his questioner in solemn ear- 
nestness for what must have been a full minute. 


70 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


''As a matter of fact, I do,’" he replied, and as 
he spoke, he placed his forefinger against the side 
of his nose and winked his right eye with a droll, 
comprehensive, artistic suggestiveness which cap- 
tivated the child completely, and made him re- 
solve to duplicate the performance at some future 
interview with his mother. 

"Tell me one/’ 

"Which shall it be: the one about the Diddie- 
heads of Dinwiddie, or the one about the time ’at 
the cannibal king didn’t eat up me an’ Bill Stir- 
pit?” 

The child was troubled. "I — ^you see I have 
never heard either of these stories,” he explained 
politely, "and so I can’t tell which I should like 
best. I think I should like to have you tell them 
both.” 

"You remind me more of the Giggie of Abrab 
Land than any other person I ever met — ’ceptin’ 
it might have been Mizzatyke, Emperor of the 
Elphalonians,” said Sinbad thoughtfully, as he 
caressed his grizzled beard. "Now the rule of 
story-tellin’ — as laid down by Noah when he took 
his well-known voyage and wasn’t sure how long 
it was goin’ to be before he would come across a 
new invoice of stories — is, that a feller can 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


71 


choose one story each day, but after that he has 
to stand for whatever story the story-teller se- 
lects to tell for his own di-versity.” 

The child sighed: Mizzatyke, the Giggie of 
Abrab Land, and the Diddie-heads drew him with 
nearly equal irresistibility — but how could he 
forego the privilege of hearing at first hand the 
exact details of how the Cannibal King had failed 
to eat the hero himself and Bill Stirpit, the mere 
mention of whose name had suggested romance 
worthy of Robin Hood, or even Jack the Giant- 
killer “I think ril take the one about the time you 
were not eaten,’^ he said wistfully, “though I 
really should like to hear them all. 

“In the first place,’’ said Sinbad. “I want to 
take the liberty of askin’ you how you managed 
to learn to talk the way you do. You navigate at 
full speed through a floe o’ middle-sized words 
with here an’ there a big word loomin’ up like a 
ground-berg, and yet as far as I can tell, you 
never run foul of ’em.” 

“My mother is a very superior lady,” replied 
Donald with simple frankness. “She never per- 
mits anyone to speak anything but the most cor- 
rect English to me, and by no means, will she 


72 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


allow me to associate with low or improper per- 
sons/’ 

Sinbad placed his first and second fingers on 
his nose, his thumb on his right cheek, and the 
remaining two digits on his left cheek. He then 
pulled downward with considerable force, and 
even a more experienced individual than Donald 
could not have told that instead of having a slight 
chill, he was laughing heartily. He looked up at 
the white house, an upper window of which 
seemed to be eyeing him accusingly. “I think 
we had better go down to that clump of bushes 
on the lower stretch,” he remarked as soon as he 
had ceased to undulate. 

‘Those are hydrangeas,” quoth Donald, with 
just the faintest tinge of condescension as he led 
the way to an opening in them. 

“Hydrangea !” exclaimed the ancient sailor 
man, who had perceived this very faint trace of 
unconscious condescension, and who, with equal 
unconsciousness proceeded to retaliate in his own 
subtile way. “Well now, that’s curious; that was 
the exact name of the Princess of Skitchiema- 
zink who turned a mug of beer into a trained ape. 
This is a regular coincidence. Well” — seating 
himself comfortably — “I must confess ’at this 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


73 


yard suits me better ’n any I have inhabited since 
I saved the life of the Doo-dad of Jehosophat 
and was made the Overseer of Pleasant Places. 
Pm rejoiced that you rubbed that lamp.’’ 

Sinbad’s comment upon the yard indicated a 
discriminating taste. Donald’s grandfather had 
secured an entire square facing Devisadero on 
the west and Broadway on the south, had set out 
eucalyptus trees, smaller evergreens, and hardy 
shrubs of all descriptions, finally building a large 
and beautiful house on the southwest corner of 
the lot. This part of the lot was high, overlook- 
ing the beautiful Bay of San Francisco, and slop- 
ing down to Vallejo and Scott streets in a series 
of nicely graduated terraces, which, with the ar- 
rangement of trees and shrubbery, had the effect 
of greatly increasing its size. 

When the ancient sailor man made ready to 
unfold the tale, a complete transformation took 
place in the tiny flags of personality which hung 
upon his outer wall. His eyes twinkled like little 
coals, first he smiled and then he frowned, he 
ran his fingers through his side hair and he 
combed at his curling beard until his audience 
was elevated to the proper pitch. The tantalizing 
suspense was for all the world as though Grand- 


74 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


ma had tasted the cooky-dough and smacked her 
lips approvingly without, however, offering the 
privilege to any interested by-standers who might 
be present. Just as Donald was on the point of 
imploring him to make haste, he raised a por- 
tentous finger as the final straw upon the back of 
patience, and began: 

''We had just left the island of Geeziegotto 
with a cargo of seed-pearls when it began to 
storm with some the worst violence I was ever 
accustomed to, and after ragin’ fiercer and fiercer 
for five long days and five longer nights, the 
seams of the Catherine J. began to open.” 

"They have a new nurse,” commented Donald 
as Sinbad paused for breath. "I heard my 
mother say so.” 

"Who has a new nurse ?” demanded Sinbad. 

"The Jays,” replied Donald innocently. "The 
old one was very careless. My mother was going 
to take me to see Catherine, but when she found 
out what a careless nurse she had, she would not. 
My mother says that the Jays are a very good 
family, but not careful enough with their ser- 
vants.” 

"Listen to me,” said Sinbad holding up the 
knotty finger once more, "neither your mother 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


75 


nor the Jays, nor Catherine’s nurse, nor nobody 
but me knows this here tale I’m about to divulge 
to ya; so if you want to harken to it, why, you’ll 
have to clew up your tongue to keep it from flap- 
pin’ about in the breeze. If there’s any one thing 
’at nervies me up to the exasperation point, it’s 
havin’ the hawsers all ready to cast off in a fair 
wind, and then have to set and gather barnacles 
while a lot of women passengers run back after 
their umbrellers.” 

The ancient sailor man was as sweet-tempered 
as it is wise for a rambling man to be; but he 
had his own ideas of discipline. When he was at 
the wheel he did not brook interference from a 
mere tourist, and at the sternness of his voice, 
Donald’s jaw dropped in abashed surprise. The 
visit to Catherine Jay had been one of his cher- 
ished expectations, and when he was forced to 
forego it because of the dereliction of Catherine’s 
nurse, it had been a bitter blow. Sinbad noticed 
his hurt expression and he bestowed a kindly 
smile before resuming in a softened tone. 

‘‘You see the Catherine J. to which I have just 
made mention of, was a hundred-ton tradin’ 
schooner with a Malay crew — and a Malay is 
seven times worse ’n anything you’ve ever heard 


76 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

of, I don’t care where you heard it. Well, when 
she began to leak we manned the pumps steady 
for a hundred and twenty-six hours, and my pri- 
vate opinion is, that we ran the entire Pacific 
Ocean through those pumps at least three times. 
Finally the cook he staggered up out of the 
galley, danced across the deck heatin’ time with 
two fryin’ pans, stood by the rail a minute, and 
says, ‘Behold! Behold, I see an island;’ and then 
stepped off onto the crest of a wave which didn’t 
break till it was seven miles distant and one 
mile up. 

“After this the Malays declared the Catherine 
J. was bewitched ; so they slew the first mate and 
eloped with the life boats. ‘It alius gives me a 
cold in the head to swim ashore at this season of 
the year,’ says Bill Stirpit, watchin’ of ’em go, ‘so 
what I says is that the rest of you set to and build 
a raft while I run up the stump of the main stick 
and look for a rescue ship.’ Me an’ the Cap’n 
was all the rest the’ was, so we didn’t lose any 
time about the fabricatin’ together of a raft. 

“By this time we had so much water in the 
hold of the Catherine J. that there wasn’t enough 
left to make a good storm out of and the waves 
began to settle down into the bed of the ocean 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 77 

igain. We launched the raft and stocked it with 
food and water, and then the Cap’n went below 
after the logbook and some navigatin' instru- 
ments. The Catherine J. refused to stand for 
anything else in her interior, so when the Cap'n 
went below, she hove up astern and dove out of 
sight, an' me and Bill Stirpit started on without 
the Cap'n whatsoever; which same we were 
loath to do — ^him bein' the only one who knew 
where we were or how to get out of it, and a 
fair, square-dealin' man besides. You were 
never ship-wrecked on a raft, were you?" 

‘"No," replied Donald, shaking his head, 'T 
never was." 

‘T could say the same myself when I was 
your age," remarked Sinbad virtuously; ‘Tut 
since then, quite the contrary. Anyway, the navi- 
gatin' of a raft is too monotonous to be included 
in the tellin' of an adventure, so we'll skip the 
next three weeks to the night when we were cast 
up on the sands of a corral island, with no per- 
sonal property whatsoever, exceptin' the clothes 
we were wearin', and they were so badly crip- 
pled they looked for all the world like the habil'- 
ments of woe — which is a term I heard used by 
the supercargo of the old Empress of Indy, who 


78 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


was a man of fluent book-learnin/ so you won’t 
make any mistake if you store it up with your 
own collection. 

“Next mornin’ we were awakened by a band 
of the native heathen, and then we ceased to feel 
any embarrassment about our clothes. We had 
more clothes ’n had ever been worn on that 
island since the beginnin’ of all things. They 
seemed quite pleased to see us and took us at 
once to the Cannibal King, who was seated on a 
throne made out of the jawbone of a whale and 
the hide of a water-buffalo. 

“I didn’t anticipate a bit of good luck as soon 
as I noticed that the colored gentleman on the 
throne was a sure-enough cannibal, so I began to 
call up the pictures of my happy childhood; but 
Bill Stirpit—” 

“How did you know the king was a cannibal ?” 
asked the child. 

“Easy enough, easy enough. You see when a 
man is your age, he gets all his opinions second- 
hand, but after he’s been shipwrecked a time or 
two, he gets to payin’ close attention to items, so 
he can Agger out his own conclusions and not 
learn so many things which ain’t so. When I 
first hove my gaze at this chap on the throne, I 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


79 


saw he was in A-one, prime condition. He was 
as plump and smooth and oily as a young virgin 
porpoise in the spring of the year, although to be 
perfectly frank with ya, he was several shades 
brunetter. ‘This feller is a rich feeder,’ says I 
to myself without hesitatin’ long enough for a 
marine sergeant to notice it. Then he looked at 
us and saw we were well stuffed out with lard, 
and the water began to drool from his lips. ‘He’s 
a cannibal,’ says I, loud enough for Bill Stirpit to 
hear. 

“Bill Stirpit was that lucky that once when he 
was blew up by gunpowder, he grabbed an orange 
with his right hand as he passed outward bound, 
and another with his left as he came back on the 
home trip, without ever once lookin’ below to see 
what he was goin’ to light on, and yet, hanged if 
he didn’t land squash in a barrel of tar without so 
much as skinnin’ a little toe ; so this time he had 
been lookin’ up unconcerned at the breadfruit 
trees and the cocoa-nut palms, and estimatin’ 
what kind of fish he would order with his first 
meal, but at my words he condescended to cast 
his eyes in the direction indicated. Now, the min- 
ute that Bill Stirpit was confronted face to face 
with the cannibal king, he gave him a most au- 


80 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


dible wink, Bill Stirpit did, and the king he was 
considerable took back by it — which was in no- 
wise astonishing as I said at the time and have 
since stood by regardless. 

‘Have I ever met you before?’ sez the canni- 
bal king?” 

“ ‘You have,’ says Bill Stirpit, glancin’ about 
to see if any of the native heathen had got civi- 
lized enough to acquire the tobacco habit. 

“ ‘Where away and when ?’ says the king. 

“Bill Stirpit threw up his head haughty and 
stared at the king as though he was surprised he 
didn’t take something for his memory. ‘I am the 
gentleman which you did the honor to eat, ten 
year ago, come the second week in next October,’ 
he says, never turnin’ a hair of his head — though 
in this regard, I own up cheerful that Bill had 
some natural advantage, a fresh ostrich egg 
lookin’ like a Russian musician alongside of 
him.” 

“I thought you said that this was to be a story 
about the time that the cannibal king did not eat 
Bill Stirpit,” objected Donald, who insisted that 
all literary productions should come strictly up to 
specification. 

“Young man, never condemn a story until you 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


81 


have heard it. If you don't like this story, that’s 
all right, and we won’t drag it out any further.” 

Donald was extremely mortified at this second 
rebuke; but his was not one of those small na- 
tures which spite themselves by remaining sullen 
when the proper course is to make an outpouring 
of that sweet humility which emanates from de- 
cent pride. ‘‘Oh no, please tell the rest of it!” 
he cried, placing a little brown hand upon the 
sailor’s knee, a little brown hand which sent that 
queer, electric thrill through the mariner, to 
warm him, to soften him, to make him a little 
more mellow, and, strangest of all, to fill his 
heart once more with the empty yearning which 
nothing in all his roving life had ever before 
aroused. “I didn’t mean to interrupt and I won’t 
do it again,” pleaded Donald, his big, limpid eyes 
upturned to the old man’s face. “Please do tell 
the rest of it. Bill Stirpit had just told the canni- 
bal king that he was the gentleman which the 
cannibal king had once done the honor of eating 
< — Now, please, do go on with it.” 

“You don’t seem to suffer much from loss of 
memory,” observed Sinbad. 

“No,” responded Donald, calmly, “my mother 
is educating me along modern lines, I do not like 


82 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


modern lines, but I can remember six things a 
day now.” 

''Well, betwixt you and me and the dog, here,” 
said Sinbad bobbing his head sagely, "unless your 
mother is gifted considerable beyond the merits 
of most women, she will soon have to get off the 
track to keep from bein^ run into — and now we’ll 
resume the story once more : 

"When Bill Stirpit said this to the Cannibal 
King, the King he straightened up on his throne 
and looked right into Bill’s eyes — fair glared at 
him — but Bill started to hum a little tune through 
the hole where his front tooth had been missin’ 
ever since he caught the bullet to keep from bein’ 
shot to death; so the King, he saw the’ wasn’t 
nothin’ to be gained by tryin’ to stare Bill Stirpit 
down, and he says most respectful, wavin’ his 
hand at me; 'And who is this here other gentle- 
man ?’ says he. 

" 'This is me ghost,’ says Bill, only stoppin’ the 
whistlin’ of his tune long enough to make the 
remark, and then pickin’ it up again at exactly 
the same bar, and goin’ on more cordial than 
ever. You never could fool Bill on bars — sand, 
hotel, or otherwise. 

"Now this was puttin’ one over on the Canni- 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


83 


bal King which he was in no manner prepared to 
grapple with, so he orders me and Bill Stirpit to 
be shut up in the hen-coop until he can have time 
to puzzle about it in deadly patience. 

“Just before they started to herd us away, Bill 
pointed to the ground, as impressive as though 
he was the first one to discover it, and says in a 
deep, holler voice: ‘Do you notice that me an’ 
me ghost only cast but the one shadow?’ 

“The King, he leaned forward and glowered 
at the ground with all his might and, as me and 
Bill were standin’ on a direct line with the sun, 
it was exactly so as Bill Stirpit had notified him, 
which threw him on his beam ends with such 
force that by the time his reason had got its sea- 
legs again, me an’ Bill were sittin’ at our ease in 
the hen-coop, as comfortable as so many baked 
potatoes; exceptin’ that our supply of tobacco 
was so short that Bill was forced to decide that it 
was impossible for a ghost to smoke, and conse- 
quently he made me turn over my pouch to him, 
which I did with a faint heart and under protest. 

“Bill Stirpit alius was a master hand at subter- 
fugin’ ; so after he had smoked a pipe in majestic 
silence, he spoke up as offhand as I’d ask to bor- 
row the use of your pocket handkerchief to seine 


84 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


a cinder out of my eye ; and says ‘What we got to 
do is to build us a boat/ says he. 

“ ‘What for shall we build us a boat, Bill ?’ says 
I, not catchin’ of his point. 

“ ‘To sail away in,' says Bill, as dreamy-eyed 
as though listening to stringed music. ‘I have a 
name for her already,' says he. 

“ ‘It is no bad plan to be full prepared with a 
name,' says I, ‘and I haven't a word again' it; 
but in the meantime where are we to get the 
planks for to build us a boat, and where is our 
liberty in which to give the buildin' of a boat the 
befittin' attention?' 

“ ‘All in good time,' says Bill, rollin' over an’ 
goin' to sleep as carefree as a young cockroach in 
the galley of a Chinese junk. I was too hungry 
to sleep, and besides I was some irritated at the 
easy way Bill Stirpit was takin' what I felt free 
to call a situation. 

“After a time, Bill he woke up out of it and 
after stretchin' himself and yawnin', he whistled 
in the guard and told him to hot-foot it to the 
Cannibal King. They fetched him back what 
might have been a six-spot or some such grade, 
but Bill Stirpit only stuck out his tongue and 
waved him away. They kept on offerin' higher 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


85 


officials until they had about skinned the deck; 
but Bill he rose up, smote his fist again’ his palm, 
and said what he was drawin’ for was a king, and 
he wouldn’t take even the best bower as a sub- 
stitute. When they saw that Bill wouldn’t con- 
fer with nothin’ short of the topgallant, himself, 
they sat down in a ring, scratchin’ their chins to- 
gether in a sort of confab ; after which they drew 
straws and the two which drew the shortest went 
up and woke the King out of his nap. As soon 
as the King had slaughtered them which woke 
him up, he dressed himself up in an oyster-shell 
crown and a necklace, and came bowlin’ down to 
our hen-coop with all sails set. 

‘Tor a time Bill and the King pointed their 
eyes at each other to see which one would do the 
bowin’, while I lay-to in the offing prepared to 
duplicate every move Bill would make, which I 
allowed was no more than any ghost would be 
expected to do. By and by the King’s gaze fell 
to the floor, and then Bill Stirpit says, as haughty 
as a rooster : “By no means send down any food 
for my ghost. The sight of food alius makes a 
ghost nervous, even when it ain’t intended for 
him; but it makes him downright wrathful when 
you insult him by offerin’ it to him direct.’ 


86 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘'Now you understand, that I, bein’ the ghost, 
didn’t in nowise take kindly to any such plan as 
this here; but before I could put out my howl 
about it, Bill he wunk to me to hold my peace — 
which I did under protest. The Cannibal King, 
he bowed low and withdrew backwards; after 
which I expressed myself to Bill Stirpit in lan- 
guage we could both understand, though not such 
as your mother would decide was necessary to 
your education — not for several years yet. 

“Bill, he remained calm until I ran out of 
breath, and then he says quite gentle : “Have they 
sent us any food ?’ says he. ' 

“ ‘They have not,’ says I, ‘but if they should, 
I wouldn’t by no means regard it as an insult.’ 

“ ‘They soon will,’ says he. ‘They’ll send us 
food and they’ll watch through a crack to see if 
you eat any. I never heard tell of a ghost which 
et food, and neither did this here Cannibal King; 
and now that I have put the idee into his head, 
he’ll try it out as an experiment. I’ll eat the food, 
you’ll sit and go through the same motions, 
smackin’ your lips as though you were enjoyin’ 
of it beyond words, and we’ll have him hooked 
on our hook as tight as the smell to a shark’ — 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 87 

which turned out to be true enough, and in short 
order. 

'‘When the food was brought, Bill he et away 
with a fine appetite, while I sat on my own heart 
and responded to the motions of eatin' as faithful 
as a shadow, but not as contented. ‘How long 
do I remain a ghost. Bill?’ I says. 

“ ‘Until we leave this here island,’ gurgled Bill, 
leanin’ back his head and drainin’ gravy — rich, 
brown, spicy-smellin’ gravy — out of a clam shell 
as big as your hat. 

“Then I’ll alius remain one,’ says I, for to this 
day it fills me with remorse to sit idle an’ watch 
another man eat, even though he was my best 
friend — and that’s as true as the North Pole. 

“ ‘A man can go a-fastin’ for several weeks, so 
long as he does nothin’ but manual labor,’ says 
Bill. ‘On the other hand, mental labor requires 
food at regular intervals. Durin’ our sojourn 
here I shall do the mental labor, and all you will 
have to do,’ says he, ‘will be to do whatever else 
there is to do;’ and with that Bill Stirpit voted 
himself another spell of sleep, while I sat there in 
the hen-coop thinkin’ it might be possible for a 
certain locality to have one too many mental 
workers. 


88 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘‘Next time he woke up it was plumb dark, so 
he told me to go outside and walk about, col- 
lectin’ what planks I might need for the buildin’ 
of the boat I objected on the grounds that as 
long as him and me were so close connected that 
we cast the same shadow, it wouldn’t look well 
for me to be wanderin’ about alone ; but he super- 
seded this by sayin’ that durin’ the hours of dark- 
ness when the’ wasn’t any shadows ghosts was 
alius in the habit of travelin’ alone; which I 
couldn’t deny, so I gave in under protest. He 
says to me that I mustn’t heed what notice was 
took of me; but to just go on about my business 
as though I couldn’t be seen at all, as this was by 
all odds the proper way for a ghost to act. I 
didn’t take much stock in this project; but as it 
came the nearest to a plan of anything in sight, I 
gave it the benefit of the doubt and went forth to 
make a test. 

“You see, these here native heathen was just 
like the rest of us; they didn’t want to hurt the 
feelin’s of nothin’ supernatural, but they also 
didn’t wish to be took in by some put-over game 
worked up by ordinary humans, so they paraded 
after me in a way which was in nowise disre- 
spectful, although I have to own up it was em- 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


89 


barrassin’ above the average. Everything went 
well, however, until the heretics among 'em be- 
gan to stick spears in me to see if I had feelin's — 
which I did most extraordinary — ^but I gritted 
my teeth together beneath my vacant smile, and 
the tatters of my habil’ments of woe kept 'em 
from seein' the blood tricklin' down me. They 
were some afeared of offendin’ my dignity, and 
so didn't stick more 'n an inch or so deep; so it 
might have been far worse ; but even as it was, I 
doubt if bein’ a ghost is one half as discomfortin’ 
as pretendin' to be one, and I was rejoiced ex- 
ceeding when they gave me credentials. 

“Every day we stuck there, Bill Stirpit got 
more dominatin’ with his orders to the Cannibal 
King, until he won the reverence of every last 
one of those native heathen and his word was 
law. They had never before heard of a thor- 
' oughly digested man lettin’ out the contract of 
ghostin’ to some other individual, while he him- 
self disported around as free from worry as 
Adam was before he became a warnin’ to good- 
natured husbands, and it furnished ’em with just 
the sort of a mystery they doted on. Common 
people won’t keep healthy unless you keep ’em 
steeped in mysteries. 


90 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


“Now, while Bill was lollin’ around sweatin’ 
out mental thoughts to mystify the heathen and 
induce ’em to cook up more fancy dishes for him, 
all I had to do was to build a boat out of the 
wreckage which strewed the coast, and as I was 
still subsistin’ on the food I had et on the raft, 
you can take it as the simplest kind of truth 
when I say that I was ready to move as soon as it 
was possible; and I worked up to the limit, in 
spite of the heat of the temperature makin’ me 
light-headed in my intellect. 

“Well, when we had the boat built. Bill, he 
ordered it filled with choice food, and then he 
went down an’ painted the name on it, though I 
was too weak to care a scene what the name was, 
and so didn’t even look at it. 

“Just before we left, Bill made ’em a little 
speech, thankin’ ’em for their courtesy, and 
promisin’ to come back every ten years to renew 
their luck and keep his memory green ; and then 
he histed up the sail and drew out of the bay 
leavin’ the native heathen face-down on the sand. 
As soon as the island dropped below the horizon, 
Bill Stirpit complimented me on the way I had 
stood by him when all odds were again’ him, and 
then he gave me leave to eat again the same as 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 91 

Other live men, though by this time I was beyond 
carin’ about it one way or the other. 

“The sun beat down on our heads most scan- 
dalous hot and Bill had got so tender from livin’ 
at his ease, that he refused to put up with it. He 
was all for takin’ down the sail and usin’ it for 
an awning; but I was anxious to get somewhere 
else, so I argued again’ it with the stump of an 
oar. When it got cool I fell asleep; and when I 
woke up I found Bill Stirpit tearin’ the planks 
out of the bottom of the boat. I protested ve- 
hement and to the point; but he had taken con- 
trol of the oar durin’ my repose, and was there- 
fore in the majority. 

“He pulled up enough planks from the bottom 
of the boat to build him a half deck over the 
stern; and when I saw that the boat didn’t sink, 
I was more surprised than the polar bear which 
swallered the chunk of glass to squench his thirst. 
I looked at Bill Stirpit with my eyes protrudin’ 
like the eyes of a frantic lobster, but Bill only 
lolled back under his half-deck, laughin’ as open- 
mouthed as the Amazon river. ‘You can’t sink 
this here boat,’ says he. 

“Why can’t ya sink this boat?” I says hardly 


92 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


believin’ my eyes, for I had built that boat with 
my own two hands. 

“ 'Didn’t I tell you I had a fine name for it?’ 
says he. 

" 'What has a name got to do with a boat 
floatin’ high and proud over the deep, blue sea 
with a three-foot hole in her bottom?’ I de- 
manded. 

" 'Look at the name,’ says Bill, laughin’ harder 
than ever. 

"So I daggled my neck over the bow of the 
boat, and there I saw painted in red paint — A 
False Rumor. 

"This didn’t explain nothin’ to me, so I faced 
Bill Stirpit with questionin’ eyes. 'Can’t you see 
it yet, Mate ?’ says he. 'I’m surprised at you ; it’s 
as plain as the sky above ya. Once you get a 
false rumor launched, there ain’t no way to ever 
sink it; and the best part of it is, that a false 
rumor alius gains currency.’ 

"And this was a fact, too ; for by the time we 
reached port we were loaded to the gunnals with 
money. But wealth and sailor men never could 
keep company for long, and the way we split up 
this time was, that Bill Stirpit decided it was 
time for us to give up our wild, rovin’ ways, and 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 93 

to settle down at some respectable business 
ashore, which we did by buyin’ a half-interest in 
the New York post office from a man who was 
almost a total stranger to us when we first met 
him. That postoffice did a heap of business, but 
it never paid a cent of profits; so when we saw 
by the papers that the^ was likely to be a short- 
come in the post office department, we took on 
with the explorin^ expedition which was headed 
out to look for the Lost Opportunities of Alex- 
ander the Great.^^ 

‘T don't care much for stories of Alexander 
the Great," said Donald. ‘‘'Did you find the Lost 
Opportunities ?" 

“Well, not all of 'em." 

“Did you have any adventures ?" 

“No," said Sinbad, cautiously, “no, I can't just 
say that we did have any real adventures, though 
I suppose some folks would call the time 'at we 
got sucked down by a whirlpool and shot up 
again through a volcano somethin' in the na- 
ture of an adventure." 

“I should," declared the child reassuringly, 
“and I really think this is part of the same story. 
Would you mind telling about it, now?" 


94 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


“Did you ever hear about the greedy gob- 
lin of Gindleville 

“No, I never did.” 

“Well, he had enough smoking tobacco to last 
him through the winter, but he got to studyin' 
about how fine it would be to just saturate him- 
self full of tobacco smoke; so he put his stock of 
tobacco in the stove and stopped up the chimney. 
He was surprised to find out that too much of 
one thing was worse ’n none at all, and besides, 
he didn’t have any more tobacco to smoke all 
winter.” 

“Is that a moral story?” asked Donald. 

Sinbad combed his beard, while he made his 
memory counter-march to see if he had care- 
lessly permitted any deep-sea adjective to slip 
into his narrative. Satisfying himself that this 
had not occurred he replied, “Now if you’re ask- 
in’ me that as a riddle. I’ll have to admit I don’t 
know; but if you’re askin’ for information. I’ll 
say right out in plain words that it is a moral 
story.” 

“Then I know what the moral is,” said Donald 
a little dejectedly. “It means that I must not ask 
for too many stories at one time.” 

“Any way,” said Sinbad, “this is about the 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 95 

time that rich folks take their plum duff, ain’t 
it?” 

‘Well, I shouldn’t be much surprised if 
luncheon were about ready. Won’t you come in 
and eat with me?” 

“Well now, you see it’s this way, Cap’n; in all 
probability your mother is one of the best ever, 
and I’d be willin’ to swear to it, sight unseen ; but 
just from what you’ve told me about her your- 
self, I’m considerable suspicious that we gradu- 
ated from different colleges, and therefore some 
of our convictions would be likely to clash a bit. 
You understand, now, that I’m tellin’ you this 
in confidence, and I wouldn’t have it come out in 
the newspapers for a sum of money.” 

“I don’t know how to get things into the 
newspapers,” admitted Donald. “My mother 
was graduated from Bryn Mawr College.” 

“Just as I thought!” exclaimed Sinbad trium- 
phantly. “Now, I’ll tell you the simple truth 
about it, I never went a single day to — What 
did you call it?” 

The child repeated the name with quaint cor- 
rectness, and the sailor shook his head in awe. 
“Well, I don’t want to discourage you none ; but 
if your mother continues to navigate you along 


96 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

modern lines for a few years more,” he remarked 
in a tone of respectful warning, ‘‘you’ll be in a 
worse fix ’n old Cap’n Grooky was the time his 
rudder got foul the line of the horizon and 
steered him onto the Milky Way during a fog. 
And now I’ll have to be weighin’ anchor and get- 
tin’ under way again. The best of luck to you. 
Does the dog shake hands?” 

“No, mother does not like trick dogs.” 

“You can’t blame her much either,” said Sin- 
bad, as one man speaking to another. “What 
with you crowdin’ full sail along modern lines, a 
trick dog in the same family would be like 
hangin’ ^ red lantern on the sun. Still, there’s a 
few things which all dogs have a right to know, 
and shaking hands is one of ’em.” 

“Will you come back some day and teach 
him?” asked the child wistfully. 

“Why, my hearty, of course I will,” responded 
the ancient sailor man, yielding to the undertone 
in the child’s voice. “Hold out your hand — No, 
palm up. Does that hurt?” 

“Ooewoo !” cried Donald, for Sinbad had taken 
his small hand in his own big left one, and had 
pressed the palm of it with a thumbnail which 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 


97 


appeared to have many of the characteristics of a 
marlinspike. 

‘'Look at me,” ordered the ancient sailor man, 
“I^m taking off my hat to your mother, so you’ll 
not think ’at I haven’t proper respect for her; 
but the’s things you don’t know yet.” 

This was enticingly mysterious. “What are 
they?” asked Donald in a hushed tone. 

“You don’t know how to climb a rope, you 
don’t know how to box a compass, you don’t 
know how to splice, bend a bowl’n, or even slip on 
a clove-hitch in the dark. When you move 
around you move like an admiral, and when you 
talk you talk like a chaplain. Let me see you 
throw a stone.” 

“My mother has had all the stones taken out of 
our yard.’^ 

“Too bad, too bad,” responded the mariner, 
shaking his head. “Well, I can bring you up a 
pocketful next time I come.” 

“Will you come to-morrow ?” asked Donald. 

“Let me hear you sing a ditty.” 

“What is a ditty?” 

“There you are! That’s just what I mean. 
You’re like a bird of paradise, you ain’t nat- 
ural. You leave a wake of big words behind 


98 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


you which would swamp a first mate, but try you 
out on a word of your own size and you roll an’ 
toss like a racin’ yacht with her head knocked 
off.” 

There came a pained expression to the little 
chap’s sensitive face. ‘Tt must be because you 
and my mother went to different colleges,” he 
suggested. “You say lots of words which I have 
never heard before. Don’t you like me ?” 

The upturned eyes were glistening, and as he 
looked down into them, the old salt felt a queer, 
bulging sensation in his own eyes — eyes which 
had laughed into the eyes of Death in many an 
odd corner of the world. “You’ll see, little mate, 
whether I like you or not. I’m goin’ to put a 
chest on ya, and blow up your muscles, and have 
you whistlin’ hornpipes from mornin’ till night.” 

“My mother thinks it’s rude to whistle in the 
house.” 

“She’s right,” agreed Sinbad. “It’s rude to go 
into the house at all except to sleep. Keep out 
doors and get some red color under your tan. 
Now, trot along in to mess, eat hearty, and think 
of me while you’re chewin’ your vittles.” 

“I can’t very well do that,” said Donald hon- 


AND tHE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 99 

estly. ‘‘My mother is teaching me polite conver- 
sation during my meals.” 

“Well, keep a stiff upper lip, anyway, she can't 
teach you anything while you're asleep, and 
things are never any worse than they finally turn 
out. Good luck and pleasant winds.'' 

After watching his wonderful friend until he 
turned the corner at the foot of the hill, Donald 
seated himself beside Olaf to think it all over. 
For several minutes he gently pulled the dog's 
ear, and then he said aloud: “I do not think I 
shall tell her, at all, Olaf. You see she does not 
believe in Sinbad or Jack the Giant-killer, or even 
Aladdin. If I told her that I had brought Sin- 
bad by rubbing the lamp, she might not let me 
play with him any more, and I do not like the 
stories she reads to me out of the big books. 
Sinbad is — is very refreshing.” 

The six goodly years which had merely started 
the child on his long climb up the bothersome hill 
of mental evolution, had brought the Great Dane 
to his prime. He was an immense fellow arrayed 
in dark gray satin, rather conservative in his 
mannerisms and aristocratic in his bearing, but 
with deep, tender eyes of unfailing sympathy, 
where the child was concerned. He did not make 


100 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


friends readily, but the eager delight which shone 
in the child’s face when in the sailor’s company 
greatly prejudiced him to regard this particular 
stranger with favor, even though he was still a 
trifle suspicious with regard to Sinbad’s method 
of leaving and arriving. 

However, to a moderate and wholesome de- 
gree, Olaf was a sage and a philosopher. He had 
ceased to quarrel with methods, and formed his 
estimates largely from results. He knew that it 
was shaking rags, leaping in the air, and running 
at his best speed which had given himself the 
poise of tested strength and he did not approve 
of the child’s quiet habits. A dog reads ex- 
pressions and puts value upon the tone rather 
than the word. He had been quick to note the 
added animation in his little master since the 
coming of Sinbad, and therefore he entered will- 
ingly into the conspiracy which kept Mrs. Milroy 
in ignorance of the situation for over a week; 
although, quite unwittingly, he was the cause 
which finally brought Sinbad to that lady’s atten- 
tion. 


CHAPTER V 



ATURE in a quiet, unobtrusive way has a 


^ ^ rather grim sense of humor which ex- 
presses itself in filling the world with incon- 
sistencies. All the simple creatures are also 
crafty; and as the dog, the child, and the ancient 
sailor man were each in his own way quite sim- 
ple, their united craftiness easily enabled them to 
elude the observation of those who might put 
obstacles in the way of their continued association, 
and left them free to enjoy an intercourse which 
they found delightful. 

The child believed in Aladdin^s lamp, the Magic 
Rug, and similar irregularities, the mariner be- 
lieved in the defensive qualities of a certain 
shark’s tooth, in the dire calamity which would 
follow failure to carry out a promise made to a 
dying companion, and to divers kindred sign- 
posts not visible to the scientific eye; doubtless 
also, the dog had his own private superstitions 
in addition to the typical suspicion of the moon 
which seems to prevail throughout the canine 


101 


102 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


sphere; and so they could all play together in 
mutual self-respect and esteem. It is because 
scientists have no mysteries left to give venti- 
lation, that they smother in their heavy at- 
mosphere of facts, become peevish, and quarrel 
upon the slightest provocation. 

Sinbad had introduced several games which 
brought muscles into play, and Donald had a 
blister on each palm and a scratch on his knee. 
He had also hit Sinbad’s hat twice out of ten 
attempts at his last trial, and the target was 
placed nearly as distant as he had been able to 
throw the stone at his first attempt. He could 
whistle two bars of Nancy Lee, and was learning 
a simple hornpipe which he danced to the whis- 
tling and patting of the ancient sailor man. These 
may seem like small matters to many; but it 
must not be forgotten that when a man has but 
one penny and gains another, he has doubled his 
treasure. 

Sinbad had no difficulty in reducing the potency 
of his qualifying terms to suit the tender years 
of the child; but the reckless, buffeting determi- 
nants of his roving life had provided him with a 
heavy armament of these terms, and one morn- 
ing Mrs. Milroy was shocked beyond expression 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 103 


to hear a deep voice issue a specific command 
directly beneath her window and, if she could 
believe the testimony of her own ears, this com- 
mand was actually — profane. It directed some 
unknown person to go to a very hot locality, and 
besought supreme condemnation upon this same 
individual. The accents and inflections were all 
so correctly placed that there seemed no grounds 
for a misunderstanding, either in her hearing or 
on the part of those more immediately con- 
cerned. 

The objective situation was this: Olaf did 
not like errand boys, and the feeling was mutual ; 
the hat of one of these boys had blown across 
the dog’s path so invitingly that he had seized 
it and given it a playful shake. When the boy 
had recovered his hat, and the big iron gate had 
clanged behind him, he had ignored the fact that 
he was a trusted agent of civilization, and had 
thrown a stone with the evil accuracy which dis- 
tinguishes this type. It had struck Olaf on the 
glossy flank and had almost made him yelp, which 
would have been a distressing humiliation. Sin- 
bad, who was waiting for Donald to finish shining 
his shoes — the shining of shoes being one of the 
means advocated by modern lines as a means 


104 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


whereby a six-year-old could materially accel- 
erate his evolution — saw the entire performance, 
but arrived at the point of vantage too late to 
handle the errand boy as the case demanded. 
This so worked upon his sympathetic nature that 
he forgot the diplomatic need for continuing in- 
conspicuous, and lifting up his voice, he ad- 
dressed the fleeing errand person in suitable 
phraseology. The errand person had not been 
reared along modern lines and he interpreted the 
mariner’s state of mind so correctly, that he 
whipped up his horse and disappeared without 
even retorting in the sign-language still in vogue 
among gamins. 

When Mrs. Milroy perceived the source of her 
shock, she received another. We take so much 
for granted that we are actually surprised that 
horns do not sprout from the brows of those 
whose manners do not accord with our own. 
Mrs. Milroy fully expected to see a low-browed 
brute with an evil cast of countenance; instead, 
when she looked from her window, her gaze 
rested upon an object to delight the senses, a piece 
of art, a finished entity. The tang of salt still 
clung to his curling, grizzled beard, the roll of 
sloppy decks was in his walk, as he paced to and 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 105 

fro smiling at the discomfiture of Olaf’s petty 
antagonist, and the boom of the surf was hidden 
away in the undertone of his bass voice as he 
hummed a cheerful, deep-sea ditty. Cleanness of 
soul, cleanness of mind, cleanness of body, were 
written large upon his placid countenance — and 
yet none but he could have been responsible for 
those terrible words. 

Mrs. Milroy was a lady of courage and con- 
victions, especially convictions. She raised the 
window and fixing eyes of the same steady gray 
as her son’s upon the stranger, inquired: “Was 
it you who just shouted?” 

Off came the round blue hat exposing the bald 
pate beneath. “Yes, ma’am, thankin’ ya kindly, 
it was,” replied Sinbad, his face looking strangely 
like that of a boy of fourteen. 

“To whom were you talking?” 

“To an errand boy who was just here, ma’am. 
He was askin’ me if I knew where was a cheap 
place to buy hats. First off I says to him, ^no.’ 
Then I remembered about the fire sale Heller was 
havin’ over in the Mission ; so I yelled it out after 
him. I beg your pardon. Ma’am, for disturbin’ 
you.” 


106 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

‘‘Just exactly what did you call out to this 
person ?’" 

“Why, he had got some little way, so I shouted, 
in what I admit was too loud a voice, ‘Go to 
Heller’s for hats — got damaged by fire.’ ” 

The face of the ancient sailor man was 
full of that sublimely innocent sincerity affected 
by Raphael’s cherubs, and his brown eyes re- 
turned the gaze of the gray ones without flinch- 
ing. It was a serious matter with him; he was 
fighting for a continuance of Donald’s friend- 
ship, and he stood to his guns, even as he had 
stood to them long ago when he had sailed with 
Farragut up the river of fire, past Fort Jackson 
and Fort St. Philip, to plant the Stars and Stripes 
above the city of New Orleans. Heavy broad- 
sides of accusation flashed from the gray battery; 
but they bounded harmlessly from tested armor, 
and, taken by surprise as they were, they finally 
fell before the answering discharge of candor. 

“It did not sound like that to me,” said Mrs. 
Milroy in a neutral tone. “What is your errand 
here?” 

Inwardly the ancient sailor man breathed a 
sigh of relief at having passed the first fort, but 
he was fully aware of the dangerous guns ahead. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 107 


^Why, Donald, he wants me to teach Olaf, here, 
one or two little embellishments which we have 
agreed is necessary for all dogs to know/’ 

Never before was this man of the sea put 
through such a searching examination as he un- 
derwent that morning, and the end was merely a 
compromise — Mrs. Milroy would consult with her 
husband that noon, and the sailor could call upon 
the following morning and learn the decision. 
Sinbad hitched up his trousers, saluted, and bowed 
with solemn reverence, after which he withdrew 
walking on his tiptoes, and he did not breathe 
naturally until he reached the foot of Vallejo 
Street. There he wiped his brow, gave a low, 
long-drawn-out whistle, and exclaimed : ‘‘She’s a 
wonderful woman — ^poor little Donald !” 

Donald had heard most of the dialogue from 
ambush, and with a sinking heart had watched his 
beloved comrade walk away down the steep hill. 
A cord seemed fastened from his own heart to 
Sinbad’s retreating form, and every step drew 
it tighter. When the ancient sailor man rolled 
out of sight, the cord broke and Donald’s heart 
sank with a sudden splash. 

For a space no tint but indigo was visible in 
any direction, and then a firm resolve began to 


108 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


form in his sunken heart; and straightway, firm 
resolves having this peculiar and blessed faculty, 
the heart began to rise again. He stole around 
to the front of the yard and creeping under some 
convenient bushes, he sat with one arm around 
Olaf’s neck and maintained a careful watch. 

His heart began to beat with excitement the 
moment he saw his father’s car, and the next 
instant he had climbed upon one of the double 
gates, thrust his face between the bars, and cried : 
“Oh, Daddy, can’t I have Sinbad to play with 
me ?” 

“Well now, son,” answered Dr. Milroy, “this 
is a question which involves a large amount of 
consideration. I’ll get out here and we’ll talk 
it over on the way to the house.” 

A large part of Dr. Milroy ’s world was wrapped 
up in the little boy whose pleading face peered 
out at him through the bars of the big gate. 
Solemn and deep were the moments when he 
scanned the long hard road to manhood with all 
of its problems and all of its pitfalls, and he 
wanted the boy to reach it strong and pure, and 
cloaked in his own individuality ; but also he loved 
the child-nature, and with no thought of dis- 
loyalty to his wife, he truly sympathized with 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 109 

the struggle for existence which this child-nature 
was making against the fierce inroads of modern 
culture. In those rare moments which he could 
glean from his busy life, he and the boy used 
to take splendid voyages in the good ship Fancy, 
out over the sea of Imagination to the Isle of 
Happyland where things really and truly hap- 
pened just as they should, 

Donald knew that his mother had opposed the 
coming of Olaf, but that Olaf had come; and 
therefore, as he ranked his mother very high 
among the earthly potentates, he was convinced 
that once his father had taken a stand, all the 
other powers could not prevail against him. What 
he could not understand, was why the demands 
of the unknown sick people should supersede 
even his own. 

“I don’t like Julius Caesar and Alcibiades as 
well as Robinson Crusoe and Aladdin,” remarked 
Donald as soon as his father had stepped down 
and taken his hand. 

‘‘Neither do I, little son,” agreed his father. 

“And now Sinbad has come, right here, him- 
self, and he has taught Olaf how to shake hands 
and carry a stick, and me how to throw stones 
and whistle and tie a granny’s knot — which he 


no 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


says himself is about the hardest knot to untie 
there is. He is going to teach me how to box 
a compass and other boys of my own size, and 
tie all kinds of knots and, and — and now Mother 
says he can’t come any more unless you say so.” 

“Well, well!” exclaimed Dr. Milroy. “This 
item certainly does come under the heading, im- 
portant if true. Let’s have the details.” 

So beginning with the battered lamp, Donald 
presented his case, argued it at length, and closed 
with an eloquent petition which left the judge 
very much prejudiced in his favor. 

As soon as Sinbad had withdrawn, Mrs. Mil- 
roy’s faith in her own hearing had returned ; and 
the doctor found her very much opposed to the 
experiment of permitting his continuance as her 
son’s companion. The doctor was disposed to 
regard Sinbad’s lapsus linguae as being an acci- 
dent not inconsistent with his seafaring past and 
possible only under stress of intense excitement. 
He also ventured the opinion that Donald had 
displayed an increased animation during the last 
few days, and said that he would interview this 
peculiar individual who had arrived at the request 
of his son, conveyed by the unusual instrumen- 
tality of a cherished souvenir, and if the stranger 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 111 


felt that he could temper his conversation to the 
tender ears of childhood, he would be glad to add 
his influence to Donald’s environment. 

Unfortunately, the doctor was called away early 
the next morning, and when the diffident Sinbad 
arrived, Mrs. Milroy mistook his bashfulness for 
guilt, and informed him with icy civility that she 
did not consider him a suitable companion for 
her son. He had thrown back his head and 
squared his shoulders at this, and as he stood for 
a long moment looking into her eyes, there had 
been no trace of timidity in his own; but he felt 
himself at his worst with the feminine sex, and 
after hesitating a moment, he had whirled on his 
heel and stalked stiffly down the hill without a 
word. 

Donald had heard his mother dismiss his best 
friend, or, at least, next to Olaf his best friend; 
and for the first time the impulse to mutiny had 
sprung to life in his breast. At first the injustice 
of the situation kept him dumb, and then a strange 
instinct led him to flee from his mother without 
speaking. With deep, dry sobs shaking him, he 
ran with Olaf to the far side of the yard and 
threw himself face down beneath a bush. The dog 
lay beside him licking his ears from time to 


112 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


time, snuggling his soft, warm body against that 
of the child, and giving low nasal whines of 
puzzled sympathy. 

In spite of its enviable reputation, the charity 
which expresses itself in gifts is a bad thing. 
The world belongs to the fighters, and when 
charity turns a possible fighter into a meek and 
lowly beggar, treason has been committed against 
the race. The youth who is sent to college as a 
matter of course, dodges as much work as pos- 
sible, while the youth who has to practice drudg- 
ery and self-denial drinks of education as a camel 
drinks at a desert well. The prizes which are 
valued, are the prizes which have been fought for. 

Finally Donald sat up and took the dog's face 
in his hands. ‘‘Olaf," he said dramatically, ‘T 
am going to run away." 

The dog also sat up, wagged his tail, and 
solemnly offered to shake hands. This being a 
new accomplishment was a matter of pride, and 
paraded upon the slightest excuse; but it was 
so pertinent in this instance that Donald con- 
sidered it as the outward and visible sign of 
approval, and also as a token that the Great Dane 
would stick to him through thick and thin. 

‘‘Sinbad says that when boys run away to 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 113 


sea they always take a few things in a red 
handkerchief. I have no red handkerchief, Olaf ; 
but I can take the small red scraf my mother 
wears about her head when she goes in the car. 
Just as soon as I can get it, I'm going to start. 
Oh, Olaf, I didn't think my Daddy would do 
such a thing!" 

He threw his arms about the dog's neck for 
a minute, and then crept into the house. He had 
no trouble in getting the scarf, but it took some 
time to decide upon the equipment necessary for 
his quest. He finally settled upon four slices of 
brown bread and butter, some cookies, and the 
magic lamp. He could not open the iron gates 
nor climb the fence, and this proved an obstacle 
for a long time. Finally a careless peddler left 
the side gate unlatched, and as soon as he had 
turned the corner, Donald and Olaf darted from 
beneath the bush where they had been hiding, 
and ran down the Devisadero Street hill to 
Vallejo. Here Donald turned to the west and 
holding fast to Olaf's collar trudged manfully 
up hill and down for several squares. When 
he sat down to rest he found himself very 
weary and took a nap in an empty lot with 
the dog keeping watch beside him. When he 


114 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


started on again he took a northerly direction 
toward the Bay, and about three o’clock he 
shared his provisions with Olaf. When night 
fell he was too tired to enjoy even a rebel’s in- 
dependence, and so he sat in the shelter of a de- 
serted brick building to rub his lamp for Sinbad. 

He had not wanted Sinbad to know that he 
had run away until after he had secured a place 
on shipboard; but it was lonesome when the 
shadows turned the waters of the Bay black, and 
the night breeze blew chill and the myriad lights 
on the city’s hills began to blink and twinkle for 
all the world as though the happy home-folks 
were mocking the outcasts and wanderers. The 
slap-splash, slap-splash of the small waves against 
the rocks sounded strange and unfriendly, and so 
he rubbed at the ancient lamp and tried his best 
to remember just what words he had used when 
he had invoked his trusty friend on the former 
occasion. Olaf whined a time or two, but he was 
uncertain as to his duty, and therefore did not 
presume to take the initiative. He sat close to 
the child for warmth and comfort, but what his 
thoughts were none can say. 

Now it would seem that a six-year-old boy and 
a dog of Olaf’s proportions would have attracted 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN llS 


attention; but they had wandered through a 
sparsely settled district, and none had noticed 
them. When they had been missed at luncheon 
time, there had been much excitement at the 
Milroy home and after the yard and neighbor- 
hood had been searched, the doctor was sent for. 
After he had conducted the search in wider cir- 
cles, he, too, became alarmed and notified the 
police. By this time Mrs. Milroy was sure that 
the wicked sailor had kidnapped her child and 
the extravagant suggestions she made for en- 
listing the assistance of the fire department, 
militia, and regular army were not in keeping 
with her usually calm and well-ordered mind. 

Dr. Milroy did not suspect foul play; he thought 
it probable that Donald had wandered down 
Broadway to the Italian quarter, but he could 
not see how Olaf could have escaped notice, nor 
how he could have been eliminated even if Donald 
had accepted a misguided invitation to take a 
meal with one of the hospitable foreigners. He 
had told the police to make a quiet search, but 
when darkness fell, his anxiety increased greatly, 
and he decided that if the child was not found 
before ten o’clock to give notice to the news- 
papers. He knew that Donald was full of 


116 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


curious beliefs which it had pleased him to 
encourage, and he still hoped that he was 
merely carrying out some original experiment and 
would return in due season to give an account of 
himself. At eight o’clock he started homeward 
determined to make a more thorough search of 
his own premises before notifying the papers. 
Ghastly recollections of children who had locked 
themselves into chests haunted him, but each 
time the presence of the Great Dane seemed to 
preclude such a possibility, and he drove his car 
along as fast as the hills would permit. 

When Sinbad had that morning been formally 
dismissed, his pride, his sense of justice, and his 
deep and simple affections had all shared in the 
impact of what had been a staggering blow; 
and his face wore a look of pain as he hurried 
down to the water’s ddge. In time of emotional 
stimulation, he found great relief in getting close 
to the heaving bosom of his temperamental foster 
mother. He had the privilege of using a bat- 
tered blue boat whose property rights were vested 
in another old salt by the name of Danny 
Pritchard; and he hastily scrambled aboard this 
questionable craft and rowed out through the 
Golden Gate to where the long swells of the 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 117 

Pacific could rock him gently to and fro and 
soothe his troubled spirit, as they had already 
done many a time and oft. 

As the sun set he hoisted a leg-of-mutton 
sail and tacked lazily back to the landing. His 
heart was still heavy, but he had been facing his 
future all day, and no future can long return 
the gaze of a courageous man without losing 
some of its intimidating bluster. He was not 
contented, he was not even trying to convince 
himself that he was; but he had made up his 
mind to turn his back on the bright shore which 
had attracted him, and to steer the course which 
Fate had laid out for him. Once he muttered, 
*‘Hang her, I can’t see why she couldn’t have 
minded her own business;” but he was not 
alluding either to Mrs. Milroy or Fate. 

As he drew near to the landing he heard a 
long, low, mournful howl which caused a creepy 
feeling in his scalp. He peered into the gloom 
but could see nothing. ‘‘Can’t be a wolf around 
here,” he whispered to himself; “but that don’t 
remind me much of a dog.” 

He tied his boat within a small cove sheltered 
by rotting piles, and after stowing away the 
sail, started up the bank. Again came the eerie 


118 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


wail, and he stooped and picked up a stout club. 
The sound seemed to come from behind the de- 
serted brick building a short distance down the 
shore, and when he drew near to it, he saw the 
vague outline of a large animal, and paused to 
take further observations. The animal had been 
facing the mansions on the hill when he ap- 
proached, but when he stopped it had lowered its 
head and seemed to be sniffing the ground. Be- 
fore his good eyes could identify the form it 
had started in his direction, and he had tightened 
his grasp on the stick with the thankful feeling 
that a little battle would harmonize pleasantly 
with his present depression. 

The sinewy form drew closer until with a 
start the ancient sailor man recognized his one- 
time ally. ‘Well, by the whale that swallowed 
Jonah, mess-mate, what are you doin' out here 
at this time o’ night?” 

The dog drew close, stopped, and gave a low 
whine. 

‘Where is he?” asked the mariner, hurrying 
forward. 

Relieved to find this human free from the 
stupidity he had frequently encountered in other 
members of this species, the dog wagged his 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 119 


tail, turned, and ran in the direction of the de- 
serted building with Sinbad lumbering after. 

The dog stopped at the corner of the building 
until the ancient sailor man caught up with him, 
and then he hurried to where a small building 
joined on to the larger one. Here he gave the 
whine which means, “There, you can see that 
my entire course of action has been justified;” 
and then stepped to one side, wagging his tail 
proudly. 

“ Ton my word if it ain’t the Cap’n !” ex- 
claimed Sinbad dropping to his knees beside the 
child who lay with head pillowed on arm, com- 
fortably sleeping. “Ahoy there, what’s up?” 

At the sound and the touch of Sinbad’s arm 
on his shoulder, the weary Donald gave a sigh 
and sat up. For a moment he blinked his eyes 
in amazement, and then Sinbad said soothingly, 
“Don’t be frightened, mate — me an’ Olaf are 
here.” 

Donald’s hand was still clasping the handle 
of the magic lamp, and as he noticed this, recol- 
lection returned. “Why did you not come 
sooner?” he demanded. 

“I came as soon as I got the call. You see I 
had started off on a voyage.” 


120 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

‘‘Well, it was light when I rubbed the lamp for 
you, and now it’s dark and I don’t know where 
I am.” 

“Well, I know where you are,” rejoined the 
sailor, “and I’m going to put you up on my 
shoulder and start home with you.” 

“I am not going home,” said Donald faintly; 
“I am going to sea to be a cabin boy.” 

“What you goin’ to do with Olaf ?” 

“I am going to take him along with me.” 

“Nope, no they wouldn’t hardly stand for it. 
You see, Olaf, here, is a watch-dog and every 
big ship has two dog-watches; so if the watch- 
dog and the dog-watches got to fightin’ it would 
make the chronometer so nervous you couldn’t 
tell eight bells from a fire-alarm. What we’d 
better do is to go back home and get to bed. 
You see, if you sleep well you’ll grow faster, 
and then you can start to sea in a year or so as 
a regular able-bodied seaman. Cabin boys are 
pretty much of a nuisance.” 

“I don’t want to go home,” persisted Donald, 
but two big tears gathered and would have fallen 
if Olaf had not been standing so close that when 
a little hand reached out in the darkness and 
clasped the satin skin at the base of his throat, his 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 121 

ready tongue made instant response and thus pre- 
vented conduct which would have been dishonor- 
able upon the part of one who had recently cast 
off his entire family. 

^‘What for did you pull out?^’ asked Sinbad 
curiously. 

“Because — because my Daddy let my Mother 
send you away.’^ 

It was a foolish ancient sailor man, else there 
would not have been such a great bounce of 
gladness in his heart at these simple words. A 
man of his age should have poise and practica- 
bility, and his soft sentiment should have been 
replaced by an accurate sense of worldly values ; 
but instead of this, the child’s confessed affection 
for himself struck him like the finding of a great 
treasure, and forced him to swallow three times 
before he could bring his emotions up to the 
wind again. 

“By the great white whale, boy, was you 
actually makin’ a little war of your own? And 
on my account, too! Well, well! Tell you what 
we’ll do, we’ll all three of us go back together 
and, and — now, we won’t mutiny again’ your 
mother, understand, nor your Daddy neither, and 
you must never desert the ship again; but we’ll, 


122 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


we’ll — anyway we’ll put up a good fight before 
we let anything at all split us up again. Now 
shake hands on it.” 

Out in the dark by the deserted brick building 
the dog, the child, and the ancient sailor man 
shook hands with one another in a ceremonial 
which was both solemn and mysterious; after 
which the mariner hoisted Donald to his shoulder 
and with the complacent Olaf walking majestic- 
ally alongside, marched across the sand and up 
the hill to the Milroy mansion, arriving at the 
same time that its lord and master did. 

Dr. Milroy went in by the front gate, the 
triumvirate entered by the side gate, and therefore 
when a thunderous rapping came to the side 
door, which opened toward the lawn, it was the 
doctor, himself, who rushed to open it. When 
he saw the array before him he was speechless for 
a second, and then he seized Donald from his 
perch on Sinbad’s broad shoulder, and demanded : 
‘‘Where have you had him all this time ?” 

A peculiar smile came to Sinbad’s lips. “All 
what time?” he asked. 

Mrs. Milroy hurried down the hall from the 
front room, and took Donald in her arms, 
smothering him with kisses, and making typical 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 123 


mother-noises over him. When the purely ele- 
mental emotions, which antedate history by many 
centuries, are aroused they are frequently given 
the purely elemental expression which best suits 
them. Sinbad had been strongly prejudiced 
against Mrs. Milroy heretofore, but when she 
clasped Donald to her breast and made moan over 
him, she touched the simple heart of the sailor 
as no words could have done, and Olaf also 
understood perfectly, and, ignoring the fact that 
he was on forbidden ground, he came forward 
and put his chin on the child’s knee. 

Dr. Milroy was also deeply moved, but his 
professional mind would not permit a diagnosis 
to halt for mere sentiment, so he asked a little 
huskily: “Didn’t you know it would worry us 
to keep him out all day? What right had you 
to take him at all. A man of your age — ” 

Sinbad raised his hand impressively. “It’s 
alius a good plan to go slow, sir,” he said, “when 
you’re approachin’ a strange coast in a fog.” 

“What time did you take him away?” asked 
the doctor in more even tones. 

“I didn’t take him away,” replied Sinbad 
whimsically. “I was the one which brought him 
back.” 


124 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘‘Where did you find him?’' 

“Well, I didn’t exactly find him. Olaf, there, 
was standin’ at the corner of the old, empty 
brick at the edge of the bay, callin’ up here for 
some of you to come down and get him, and — 
you’d better ask the boy himself.” 

So Donald was questioned, and he sat on his 
mother’s lap, his eyes bright with excitement and 
his eyelids heavy from weariness, and told his 
story : 

“You’re always promising to take me to play 
with children — but you never do take me; so I 
rubbed the lamp and brought Sinbad and he 
amused me very, very much, and taught Olaf how 
to shake hands and carry a stick. When you 
sent him away I didn’t want to stay here any 
more, so I ran away to be a cabin boy. Olaf 
went with me, and we walked miles and miles. 
Then when it grew dark and I was lost, I 
rubbed the lamp for Sinbad to come; but he 
was away on a voyage, and I fell asleep before 
he came. I am very sleepy now, but I don’t 
want to go to sleep. I wish you would let Sinbad 
and Olaf sleep in my room.” 

There was a queer expression on the face of 
Dr. Milroy during the narration of this adven- 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 125 


ture. The simple truth is always effective, and 
it pained him deeply to think that this odd, old, 
little son of his should find parental injustice so 
hard to bear that he would turn to a dog and a 
rough sailor for comfort. 

‘‘Little son,’^ he said, putting his hand under 
Donald's chin and gazing down apologetically 
into his eyes, “you shall go to play with other 
children, and Sinbad may come and play with 
you as much as he will. Now, let Mother put 
you to bed while I see if I can’t find some re- 
freshment for your two good friends. Good 
night, little son.” 

“I’m not sleepy,” insisted Donald, “but I am 
tired. I am so glad that Sinbad can come when- 
ever I want him. Goodnight.” 

It was strictly against the ethics of modern 
child-training to carry a six-year-old boy up- 
stairs; but on this special occasion Mrs. Milroy 
carried Donald who looked back over her shoul- 
der, bravely trying to keep his rebel eyelids from 
betraying him, and waved the magic lamp until 
he disappeared. 

The doctor gave orders to spread a feast for 
the sailor, and then notified the police that his 
prodigal son had returned unharmed. Olaf’s 


126 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


meal was served in a large dish placed on a news- 
paper on the floor of the cozy breakfast room 
while Sinbad sat in state at the table. The doctor 
was delighted with the quaint conversation of his 
guest, which, to be frank, dealt principally with 
the admirable qualities of his own son. 

*^You have Donald's confidence," he said at the 
close of the interview, ‘^and you have a"«plendid 
opportunity to set him a good example." 

‘Til have him so he can swarm up a rope like 
a young monkey," responded Sinbad with a wag 
of the head. 

“Yes, yes I can see a physical improvement in 
him already," admitted the doctor, “but you can 
also see that he does not pick up any profanity 
or bad habits." 

The ancient sailor man looked at the doctor 
quizzically for a moment and then he solemnly 
winked his right eye. “Trust me, sir," he said 
reassuringly. “I can say without vanity that 
there ain't no word of profanity with which I'm 
not full acquainted with, and if I hear anyone 
usin' even what you might call respectable pro- 
fanity in front of the boy. I'll take a rope’s end 
to him and run him out of the yard.” 

“Thank you, I have every confidence in you.^' 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 127 


At the door the doctor hesitated; he wanted 
to make some substantial offering for the sailor’s 
part in returning his son; but Sinbad had per- 
sonality, and in the end, the doctor contented 
himself with a hearty hand-clasp — which in this 
case, was the correct thing. 

Olaf left with the sailor and walked around to 
the side gate with him. There Sinbad sat on 
the grass for a few minutes stroking the dog’s 
smooth coat. “I don’t want to flatter up your 
vanity none, mate,” he said with a satisfied 
chuckle ; ‘Tut betwixt you and me, this here was 
a good day’s work. His mother is a mighty 
fine woman; but there’s no gettin’ around the 
fact that she is a woman, and when you’re as 
old as I am, you’ll know that all women carry 
more sail than ballast, and they’re harder to 
steer than a raft. Shake hands with me, mate,” 
he continued sadly, ‘T’m about to return to Mrs. 
Ginger, and if you’ll excuse the expression, I 
don’t mind tellin’ ya that she’s a regular devil. 
Good night; I’ll be up early in the morning.” 


CHAPTER VI 


O NE of the most refreshing characteristics 
of simplicity is its heartiness. When the 
simple person rejoices, life is as gay as an amateur 
circus-parade; when he sorrows, Nature herself 
is forced to join in the mourning. The emotions 
of simplicity are resilient, and therefore they 
bounce from one extreme to another with a 
lively spontaneity which helps to clarify the at- 
mosphere. 

Next morning Sinbad marched up the hill at 
an early hour, and even the birds of the air could 
have told that his joy-banners were fluttering in 
the breeze. He was whistling Nancy Lee, and 
if he had been an entire brass band with a drum- 
major in a bear-skin shako, he could not have 
demonstrated a higher degree of enthusiasm. He 
slammed the side gate, and marched brazenly 
around the back of the house, as if defying those 
who had erstwhile kept him in retirement. When 
he reached the driveway, he changed his tune to 
‘The Girl I Left Behind Me,” and marched 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 129 

around the oval until joined by Olaf. He shook 
hands with the dog, complimented him upon his 
neat and tidy appearance, and then resumed his 
parade with Olaf marching beside him and wag- 
ging his tail understandingly. 

A victory is a private and personal affair, and 
no outsider is in a position to put the true value 
upon one. The dog and the mariner understood 
each other by this time, and frequently exchanged 
knowing winks — the knowing wink of an intelli- 
gent dog is most expressive. As Sinbad and Olaf 
continued to march around the oval, they were 
thinking of the recent victory they had helped 
Donald win, and would have frankly resent- 
ed any suggestions as to the propriety of keep- 
ing vanity in reserve. Having discrimination, 
they recognized that the exercise of pardonable 
vanity is one of the pleasantest activities possible 
to an organism of any level, and being simple 
they indulged themselves freely. 

Presently Donald joined them, both in person 
and in spirit. He marched behind Sinbad, 
whistling almost in tune, and patting his hands 
quite in time. He kicked his little legs out in 
a fine strut, and his eyes danced rapturously. It 
is a grand thing to be simple and also to be vie- 


130 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


torious; to open wide the gates and pour oneself 
forth with all the freedom of the breeze, the 
sunshine, and the shower. Harmony is merely 
a matter of vibrations, and minor irregularities, 
such as difference in age, social levels, or even 
species cannot mar an otherwise pleasing and con- 
sistent whole. 

After they had whistled the atmosphere into 
such a rarified condition that breathing was diffi- 
cult, they threw themselves under a bush and 
laughed uproariously, Olaf using short barks, 
queer, zig-zaggy jumps, and tumultuous tail- 
wagging as a substitute for the laughter which is 
a strictly human monopoly. 

‘‘Enjoy yourselves to the best of your ability,” 
said Sinbad; “but if you fellers just knew what 
it means to leave a certain girl behind you, you 
could get more fun out of whistlin’ that there 
tune.” 

“What is a certain girl?” asked Donald. 

“Come to think about it,” said Sinbad after a 
pause, “I’m obliged to say as how you’re right — 
there ain’t no such a thing.” 

“My mother has been teaching me about the 
North Pole,” said Donald with no formality about 
changing the subject. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 131 

“What does she know about the North Pole?” 
demanded the ancient sailor man. Donald gen- 
erally made some comment upon his lessons to 
his friend, and frequently it started rather in- 
teresting discussions. 

“Why she has books which tell all about it, 
and about all the men who have sailed up to find 
it, and how terribly they suffered, and how we 
ought to remember them when we say our 
prayers, and be thankful that we do not have to 
suffer as they did.” 

“Hum !” ejaculated Sinbad. “Did those books 
mention me an^ Bill Stirpit ?” 

“No, none of the books have mentioned Bill 
Stirpit; but the Arabian Nights which my mother 
used to read to me, mentioned you.” 

“What did it say about me at the North Pole?” 

“It didn’t say anything about you at the North 
Pole. It didn’t even mention the North Pole.” 

“I wouldn’t care much for that book,” said 
Sinbad, shaking his head disgustedly. 

“The book about the North Pole told about 
Dr. Kane and Lieutenant Greely and Sir John 
Franklin.” 

“Did that book say ’at they found the North 
Pole?” demanded Sinbad sternly. 


132 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘‘No, it didn’t.” 

“I can tell you why, too.” 

“Why?” 

“ ’Cause me an’ Bill Stirpit found the North 
Pole — and brought it back with us.” 

The child looked at him in wonder and admi- 
ration. “Where is it?” he asked. 

“It lies in fifteen fathoms of water in the Malay 
Archipelago. You see the North Pole was the 
most beautiful thing you ever saw, and me and 
Bill Stirpit calculated that we could sell it to 
the royal barber of England to use as a barber 
pole ; so after cornin’ down through Bering Strait 
we slewed off to starboard bein’ minded to run 
through the Suez Canal ; but the Pole was charged 
full of magnetism and it put all the compasses 
out of commission. They sent out a fleet of war 
vessels to round us up, ten vessels from every 
nation, and they circled us in just at sundown. 
‘The jig’s up,’, I sez, bein’ easy disheartened. 
‘Not so,’ responds Bill Stirpit. “We’ll heave it 
overboard as soon as it’s dark, and that’ll fix 
’em.’ ‘I’d as soon let some war vessel have it 
as to lose it entire,’ say I. ‘We’ll mark the spot 
and come back after it,’ sez he; so as soon as it 
was dark we lay to, rigged up a tackle, and hove 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 133 


it overboard. Then we got out a small boat and 
me an Bill spent the rest of the night markin' 
the spot." 

''How did you mark it?" 

"Well, Bill, he used to be a tailor on the old 
Pensacola, and he got a medal from Congress for 
the workin' of artistic button-holes; and what he 
did to mark the spot was never did before nor 
since — Pm willin' to stake my tobacco on it. He 
cut a button-hole right there in the surface of 
the sea above where the North Pole had been 
dropped, and he worked this button-hole with a 
patent stitch he had which wouldn't slip, ravel, 
nor wear out. Next morning they searched us 
for a week, each officer on all those war vessels 
takin' a turn at it; but they didn't find a thing 
except a few polar bears we were bringin' home 
to our friends — and that's the reason no one has 
ever found the North Pole. I intend to go back 
after it, myself, one o' these days." 

"May I go with you ?" asked the child. 

"Let me feel your muscle." 

Donald flexed his elbow with severe earnest- 
ness, and Sinbad examined his biceps solemnly. 
"When I first felt o' this here muscle it was about 
the size of a young oyster," he commented ; "but 


134 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


now it bulges out like a fair-sized mouse. As 
soon as you can climb a rope hand over hand, and 
have learned navigation, I promise to take you 
along with me — but don’t you be braggin’ about 
knowin’ where the North Pole is, or the United 
States Government will beat us to it. Now then, 
let’s exercise.” 

Before Sinbad’s arrival, Donald had been a 
quiet rather than a playful child, but the mariner 
had invented many games in which all could take 
part, and now that the embargo had been lifted 
the dog, the child, and the ancient sailor man 
roamed together through a little world of their 
own where the days were long and happy and 
the nights were short and restful. 

One favorite game which brought forth all 
their individualities was ‘‘hide and seek.” The 
dog was always “it” and he rose nobly to the 
responsibilities of his position. He knew per- 
fectly well where the child and the sailor would 
hide, but he never failed to peep. He would sit 
with his nose pressed tight into the corner made 
by the side steps, his pointed ears erect and con- 
stantly changing focus, and just the tip of his 
slender tail quivering; but invariably at the pre- 
cise moment that Sinbad, on all fours, in the 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 135 


wake of the child, was disappearing in a cer- 
tain opening of the hydrangeas, Olaf with 
delightful stealth would slowly turn his head 
until just the corner of his eye would assure 
him that his comrades had not betrayed his con- 
fidence by hiding in a new place; and then he 
would wedge his nose into the corner once more, 
and the wagging of his tail would increase until 
his entire body waved in unison. 

Finding them too quickly, however, would have 
been a flagrant breach of the etiquette of sport; 
so, as soon as Donald would call, ‘^Oo-hoo” in 
his high treble, the dog would race wildly up and 
down, giving short barks and pretending that he 
was trying to track them. When this had gone 
the precise limit set by dramatic suspense, he 
would stumble upon them quite by accident, and 
then how they would laugh and frolic and dance 
around each other! 

Another favorite game was “Tug of War,’' 
Donald and Sinbad pulling on a rope against 
Olaf. The dog weighed over two hundred 
pounds, and possessed a back far stronger than 
the average of his breed; so that in spite of the 
sailor’s bulk he would generally have won if the 
child had always played fair. Occasionally, how- 


136 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


ever, Donald would blow in the dog’s ear and 
then jerk the rope from his mouth, which al- 
ways brought a sharp reprimand from the ancient 
sailor man who was a stickler for the square 
deal; and then the child would smother the dog 
with caresses and all would be well again. 

Usually once in the forenoon and once in the 
afternoon, Donald would slip into the house and 
return with three slices of brown bread thickly 
buttered. Olaf would devour his in two inele- 
gant gulps — and then plant himself in front of 
the mariner and gaze reproachfully at every 
mouthful he took until the sympathetic Sinbad 
was forced^ to divide; although he was especially 
fond of this rich, dark, well-cooked refreshment, 
and always licked the last crumb from his lips 
before saying with a sigh: ‘Tf Mrs. Ginger 
could bake like this — I would, upon my soul.” 

‘Would what?” the child was certain to ask. 

“That’s a story I can’t tell ya till the seven 
snow-white geese come sailing down the wind, 
all in a straight line,” the ancient sailor man would 
reply solemnly. 

“I wish you could tell it to me now, but any- 
way, you can tell me another story,” Donald, the 
irrepressible, would answer. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 137 


And then they would all gather close while 
Sinbad would spin a yarn. It is doubtful if the 
child comprehended much more of some of the 
stories than the dog did ; but they always thrilled 
him, which after all was the main thing. The 
mariner used copious gesture, vivid facial ex- 
pressions, and wonderful vocal inflections in or- 
der to make his tales realistic — which was a wise 
provision for in some cases the incidents of his 
narrative did not lend themselves convincingly 
to realism' — and the child usually gave little 
squeals of joy at the exciting points. The old 
man's stories never frightened Donald; for no 
matter how great the odds, the hero always pre- 
vailed against them. 

But Sinbad reserved his stories to lighten the 
digestion of the brown bread which was only 
eaten when brisk exercise had given a keen appe- 
tite. He was determined that Donald’s body 
should expand until it would ‘‘give the sun some- 
thin’ to make a shadow out of,” and the little 
chap was put through a set of paces which kept 
him so busy at table that the polite conversation 
had decidedly keen competition, much to his 
father’s satisfaction. 

Under the new regime Donald was occasionally 


138 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


taken to play with children whose ancestry, pres- 
ent social position, and personal retinue were able 
to pass the censorship of Mrs. Milroy. Usually 
James, the gardener, escorted the child, and 
usually Olaf, the dog, was not formally invited. 
When left behind Olaf would sit dejectedly at 
the gate draped with a sorrow so deep and so 
sincere that he was a perfect monument of woe. 
When one contrasted the immensity of himself 
and his sorrow with the rather meager dimensions 
of its cause, one could not help but smile at him — 
that is, unless one happened to be an errand 
person. 

This social division had strict orders not to 
let him out, but as Olaf was unalterably opposed 
to nonresistance against tyranny, he set an 
example for all the governed to follow when 
they do not whole-heartedly consent to the use of 
the power which the governors have derived from 
them. He waited modestly until the errand per- 
son, in the strict discharge of his duty, opened 
the side gate, and then he planted himself in the 
gateway and fixed his gaze upon a particular 
spot in the errand person's throat, curled up his 
lips until the beautiful, pearly teeth glistened por- 
tentously, and elevated the bristles along his back 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 139 

There was no lack of dignity in this, no noisy 
threats, no hint of mob-violence, merely a calm 
and deliberate affirmation of his intentions to 
pass out through the gateway with the least pos- 
sible confusion. The errand persons never dis- 
played their irritation, they were as gentle with 
him as though he had been the tiniest of toy 
terriers; but it was a foregone conclusion — if 
they came, he went. 

And there was no make-believe tracking then ; 
with his great head close to the ground, he would 
set ofif at a long, swinging trot which often en- 
abled him to overtake the child before he reached 
his destination — and then he had a very embar- 
rassing role to play. He would remain just one 
square behind and creep along, hiding himself be- 
hind doorsteps, trees, and all other possible 
screens, and comically attempting to concentrate 
his huge bulk into a smaller compass. 

If he was discovered he would drop flat upon 
the sidewalk with his nose between his paws and 
an expression of confessed guilt but stubborn de- 
termination upon his gray face. Strangely 
enough, at these moments his usually acute sense 
of hearing deserted him entirely. The child scold- 
ed him, threatened him, and ordered him home, 


140 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

but all in vain. He would continue to lie like 
a world-weary Sphinx until the child had ad- 
vanced a square, and then he would once more 
proceed to follow, but not stealthily now. With 
drooping head and tail, and an injured slump to 
his whole body he would plod after until the 
child reached his destination. There, if pardon 
was granted him, he entered thankfully; if not, 
he planted himself in front of the gate and in all 
probability, offered up a prayer for the advent of 
an errand person. 

On the other hand, if the dog failed to escape 
from his own yard, and the ancient sailor man 
happened to arrive, he immediately took in the 
situation and climbed the high iron fence; for 
he was a strict disciplinarian and would not en- 
courage the dog in mutiny against his superior 
officer. Possibly the dog was able to detect the 
droop which would take place in the sailor’s facial 
curves at finding the child absent, and misery 
loving company, his foolish, lonesome heart found 
a balm in Sinbad’s open sympathy. 

Donald never talked ‘‘baby-talk,” but he had 
acquired from his father, and without the con- 
sent of his mother, a “dog-talk” which was well 
suited to his tinkling voice, and which also suited 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 141 


well the softer side of Olaf’s knightly nature. 
Dog-talk is a murmurous, undertony, sub-articu- 
late, smoothly flowing babble which dallies with 
words even while it soars far above their irri- 
tating limitation: ‘‘Well, ooh is a dood, nice, 
doggie, um, ummmmmm, nicest oE, doodest oE, 
bestest oE doggie!” 

A large dog always has ample leisure to wal- 
low for hours in this sort of a noise, although 
once in a while there is a crabbed little hard- 
headed Scotch terrier who can not possibly stand 
it — especially if he regards himself as the one best 
friend of a bachelor man who smokes. A Scotch 
terrier is prone to pattern after Thomas Carlyle 
and usually affects cynicism; but a large dog 
fairly rolls on his back in the gushingest degree of 
flattery. 

Sinbad had never felt so close an attachment to 
a dog before, and his early attempts to express 
himself in the goo-goo dialect were inspiring. 
All of us who have been properly exposed to the 
psalms, have ever since had a haunting desire 
to hear with our own ears the song of the turtle. 
We have carried turtles in our pockets to school, 
thrown stones at them, eaten them, starved them 
through neglect, and slain them with misguided 


142 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


indulgence; we have used and misused turtles in 
every way that an active boy’s brain can sug- 
gest; but alas, we have never heard them sing. 
When the ancient sailor man first began to smear 
bubbles of lingual sweetness over the dog, one 
paused with a start for it seemed as though the 
curtain of mystery had at last been lifted, and 
the song of the turtle was abroad in the land. 

Sinbad did not pursue his studies very far in 
this direction. His discriminating ear soon told 
him that while with Donald the gooey talk was an 
accomplishment, with himself it was an affliction; 
so he settled back to the earth and addressed the 
dog as he would any other well tried and well 
loved companion. 

After having climbed the iron fence he would 
seat himself close to the dog;, who would not take 
his attention from the gate even to greet so close 
a friend as the sailor, and would proceed to care- 
fully crumble a pipeful of tobacco. “Seems like 
you’d have pride enough about ya not to act 
like a regular baby,” he would say quite imperson- 
ally. “Now if any one was to slam a gate in my 
face, that’d be the very time I’d pertend I didn’t 
care two-bits about him. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself! Come on over here and 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 143 


sit down by me and I’ll scratch your back. I’m 
just as much cut up about him skitin’ off to play 
with those white-faced kids as you are; but I 
don’t show it, do I? Come on over, now, and 
quit bein’ a baby!” 

After having been babied the required amount, 
Olaf would walk over to the ancient sailor man 
and solemnly offer a paw; after which they would 
retire to a shady nook to console each other. 
Only consistent sorrow commands respect ; so that 
none who ever saw this splendid pair — notably 
masculine types of two species — mourning over 
the desertion of their child playmate, ever fore- 
bore to smile. 

And, to cap this grotesque climax with a fit- 
tingly appropriate exhibition of temperament, 
Donald had bumped his nose upon the ancient 
truth that anticipation invariably discounts reali- 
zation, and was forced to admit that he did not 
find the fashionable children sufficiently amusing 
to prevent his longing for his less conventional 
friends. What with the uninteresting informa- 
tion his mother had taught him and the fascinat- 
ing fancies donated by Sinbad, his mind was not 
likely to find his logical associates congenial; so 
he cut his visits shorter and shorter in order to 


144 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


give himself more fully to the real affairs of his 
busy life. His highest ambition at the present 
was to have an anchor tattooed upon his left 
arm and a full-rigged ship on his right. Sinbad 
was thus embellished and the child’s admiration 
was not unmixed with envy. He implored the 
mariner to duplicate these works of art upon his 
own tiny forearm, and Sinbad graciously agreed 
to do this — as soon as Mrs. Milroy gave her 
consent. 

Prior to Sinbad’s appearance, the half-hour 
during which Mrs. Milroy held court after Don- 
ald had been made ready for bed had been calm 
almost to the verge of stagnation; but now she 
frequently found herself beyond her intellectual 
depth and was forced to trust to the frail life- 
belt of inspiration. It must be confessed that the 
ancient sailor man was a trifle careless in his 
manipulation of natural laws and historical facts. 
Formerly the encyclopaedia had easily bridged 
all her perplexities, but now Donald arrived 
nightly with questions as far beyond the scope of 
the encyclopaedia as navigation is beyond mental 
arithmetic. 

When Donald discovered that his mother could 
not tell off-hand the reason why man and monkeys 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 145 


were the only animals which could not swim 
naturally, he contrasted her knowledge with Sin- 
bad’s, and actually pitied her. ‘‘Why, Mother,” 
he said, kindly but condescendingly, “men and 
monkeys alius try to climb hand over hand when 
they get nervoused up, while the other animals 
just begin to run on all fours — and that’s all 
there is to swimming. Sinbad is going to teach 
me how to swim in water just as soon as you’ll 
let me go. He has already taught me how to 
go through the motions on the grass.” 

“Donald,” said his mother severely, *‘you are 
getting very careless of your language. You 
must never say ‘alius’. It is very vulgar.” 

Donald lay awake some little time that night, 
and his active mind was digging away at a small 
phase of that great world-question which has 
provoked many wars: Is the form of greater 
moment than the substance? 


CHAPTER VII 


N SUNDAY mornings, Donald was sup- 



posed to sleep later than usual ; but this did 
not suit either Olaf or Sinbad ; so one Sunday they 
talked the matter over from several standpoints 
and decided to plot against the established order. 
Olaf lived in a fine kennel beside the garage, and 
had never been upstairs in the beautiful home of 
his little master; but Sinbad was confident that 
he could find the way, and Olaf pricked up his 
ears at the suggestion, and looked very wise. 

The house, a large frame one of dazzling white- 
ness, faced upon Broadway and stood close to 
the street. Mr. and Mrs. Milroy had apartments 
upon the second floor in front, Donald's room 
was on Devisadero, toward the rear of the long 
house; back of this was the nursery, and next 
t6 this slept Donald's nurse, a superior young 
woman of education who had come to California 
because it was thought the climate would benefit 
her health and steady her nerves. A back stair- 
case led up from the side door which opened 


146 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 147 

on the yard, and an L from the back hall led 
direct to Donald’s room. 

Of course, under these circumstances, it was 
impossible for Olaf to make a mistake; but Sin- 
bad cautioned him at length, led him stealthily to 
the side door, once more impressing upon him 
the necessity of using discretion, opened the door, 
gave a final pat of encouragement, and then stole 
to the concealment of a clump of bushes to await 
developments. 

Olaf climbed the stairs without hesitation, his 
head low to catch whatever scent there was, and 
when he reached the upper hall he sniffed care- 
fully at each door until he found Donald’s which 
was always left open. The shades had been left 
low to keep the room dark, and Donald was 
slumbering peacefully when a cold nose was 
thrust against his cheek, and a pink tongue gave 
him a generous morning welcome. Before his 
eyes opened, his ready hand cuffed Olaf on the 
head, but the Great Dane regarded this as an 
unusually clever joke, and when the child raised 
himself on his elbow, he saw his four-footed 
chum standing at the side of his bed, wagging 
his expressive tail ecstatically. 

''Olaf !” cried the delighted Donald. "How did 


148 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


you get here? Nice old Olaf dood old Olaf, 
huhuhumrnmmmm.” 

After having bestowed an enthusiastic wel- 
come, Donald perceived that behind the lowered 
shades the day in all its brightness was awaiting 
his pleasure, and sprang from bed and proceeded 
to dress himself — modern methods requiring that 
a child of the goodly age of six perform this 
function, even to the tying of shoe-laces, without 
assistance. As soon as his simple toilet was com- 
pleted, Donald grasped Olaf’s collar, whispered 
to him to be careful, and together they joined the 
ancient sailor man, who was impatiently awaiting 
the outcome of his ally’s filibustering expedition. 
They all voted this to be a real adventure; and 
after that it became the standing program of all 
succeeding Sunday mornings, and one of the 
most treasured expressions of Olaf’s abounding 
life. 

In the front of the yard, on Broadway, there 
was a fountain, the water falling into a wide, 
shallow basin from two seashells held by a nymph, 
who herself stood in a much larger shell. It was 
a beautiful piece of sculpture; but, like most 
other mundane items, its charm depended some- 
what upon the point of view. One morning Sin- 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 149 


bad arrived very early with a full rigged smile 
upon his face, and the model of a full rigged 
ship in his hand. The ship had been the object 
of much patient labor, the smile was quite 
spontaneous. When Dr. Milroy came out the 
front door, the mariner was testing the capacity 
of his handiwork in the fountain basin and, like 
every true artist, he judged all other objects 
according to their relation to his own latest ex- 
pression. 

‘'Good morning. Commodore,’’ said the Doc- 
tor pleasantly, “that’s a fine boat you have there.” 

“You’re right, sir,” replied Sinbad, who had 
been grumbling so heartily to himself that he 
had not noticed the Doctor’s approach, “and if 
it wasn’t for that danged neckid woman, she’d 
sail like a cup-challenger ! Every time she heads 
up into the wind it eddies around that brazen 
hussy and draws her into the slop from those 
stone shells. It’s an outrage! If you’d just take 
that statute away, why, Donald, sir, would have 
a pond to sail his boats in as would be the makin’ 
of him.” 

“Well, Commodore,” rejoined the Doctor 
gravely, although his eyes did twinkle, “I think 
it would be possible to build even a larger pond, 


150 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


and one entirely free from ‘statutes’ in the back 
yard. You pick out the proper place, and I’ll 
have it attended to at once.” 

“Thank ya, sir, thank ya kindly !” cried the 
ancient sailor man, saluting. “He’s a fine lad, 
Donald is, and he has the makin’ of an admiral 
in him — provided he isn’t reefed up too close 
with female notions.” 

The Doctor had noted the increase in his son’s 
vigor and confidence, and he stepped into the 
awaiting car well satisfied; while Sinbad cached 
the model under a convenient bush and hurried 
to the back yard to select the proper site for the 
new pond. On his way, he met the child pulling 
a fine new wagon with a pair of shafts, and in 
the wagon was a set of harness. 

“Ahoy, Cap’n !” called Sinbad. “I’ve got some 
good news for you.” 

“Ahoy, my man!” returned Donald. “I have 
some good news for you, too. My Uncle Dick 
has just sent me this wagon and harness. Come 
on, we’ll hitch Olaf up.” 

“Who is your Uncle Dick?” asked Sinbad, 
skeptically. 

“He is my mother’s brother, and he hasn’t 
seen me since I was a little teeny, weenty baby.” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 151 


The ancient sailor man pursed up his lips, and 
drew down his brows. ‘'Well now, Cap’n,” he 
said, shaking his head dubiously, ‘T kind o’ have 
my doubts concernin’ this here. You see my 
idee is, that Olaf has shipped as an A-i, able- 
bodied dog, and I don’t calculate as how he’ll be 
willin’ to do the dirty work of a roustabout goat.” 

“He has to,” said the child decisively. “There’s 
a good stout whip here in this wagon, and I’ll 
make him.” 

The child meant all that he said ; the mere fact 
that the dog weighed five times as much as he 
did had not the slightest bearing upon the case — 
true imperialism never being a question of pro- 
portions. 

Without more ado Donald proceeded to harness 
the dog, while the ancient sailor man stood idly 
by, his arms folded and a worried expression 
upon his face. When harnessed and hitched to 
the wagon, Olaf sat down in a most unhorsely 
pose and hung his head in abject degradation. 
The child, reins and whip in hand, now mounted 
to the seat. 

“Git dap, gid dap, Olaf — git dap, I tell you!” 
called the child, his voice getting more impatient 
with each order; and at last, he struck the dog 


152 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


a smart blow with the whip. Olaf slowly turned 
his head and looked the child squarely in the 
face. It was a truly dramatic tableau, and the 
mariner’s mobile features immediately reflected 
his sympathies. Presently a hurt and sorrowful 
expression came to the dog’s face and he lay down 
with slow dignity and put his nose between his 
paws. 

Like most strong and affectionate natures, Don- 
ald had a fierce little temper of his own, although 
he very seldom gave way to it. He had gone to 
sleep the night before, dreaming of the glorious 
game he was to have the next day; and now one 
of his chums had disapproved and the other had 
flatly refused to act his part; and furthermore, 
in the case of the dog it was mutiny, pure and 
simple, and mutiny must be punished. 

With the example of civilized governments to 
temper our judgment, it would be too much to 
expect a six-year-old boy to appreciate the delicate 
discrimination which must precede a successful 
appeal to force; and so Donald acted quite nat- 
urally in giving Olaf a whipping. The whip 
was heavy, the boy was sturdy, and the dog’s 
satin coat was but poor protection; yet he made 
not the slightest move. This only added fuel to 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 153 


Donald’s rage, and springing from the cart he 
struck the dog repeatedly across the face. 

Never in his life had Olaf been abused before, 
and at first the hurt to his feelings was greater 
than his physical pain. He could have killed the 
child as easily as a cat kills a mouse; but this 
possibility never even occurred to him. When he 
could endure it no longer, he sprang to his feet 
and started to free himself from the hateful 
harness. 

Then one could get a fair idea of his powerful 
muscles as he tossed the wagon hither and thither, 
turned it upside down, crashed it against trees and 
along the stone coping into which the iron fence 
was set, broke wheels, shafts and harness, and 
tore through the shrubbery with the fury of a 
Berserker. In an incredibly short time the Great 
Dane was reduced once more to his brass-trimmed 
collar, the honorable insignia of his allegiance, 
and still smarting and deeply offended, he stalked 
down the driveway and into his own house and 
castle with never a backward look. 

When Olaf had started to give free play to his 
indignation, Donald had run after him, calling 
and threatening; but when his calls had fallen 


154 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


Upon heedless ears, he had thrown himself face- 
down upon the grass, weeping bitterly. 

The ancient sailor man, who all this time had 
stood silently and sorrowfully watching the scene, 
now approached the child with the stern, set face 
of a man about to sacrifice his life in a noble 
cause, and bending, he touched the child on the 
shoulder. Donald thought it was the dog and 
sprang to his feet, the whip tightly clutched in 
his little brown hand. 

‘‘Donald,’' said the old man in a low, solemn 
tone. The unfamiliar name fell upon the child’s 
ears with a shock. Sinbad had given him every 
title in the navy, had called him “messmate,” 
“laddie-buck,” and “my jolly buccaneer,” but 
never before had he called the child, Donald; and 
at the name and the sad tone Donald stopped 
weeping and looked fixedly into the stern face 
bending above him. 

“Donald, I’ve got to quit ya. I’ve been hap- 
pier here than I ever was before in the world; 
I never had no parents of my own, nor no 
brothers, nor no little children, and somehow you 
— you and Olaf — have been all these things to 
me ; but you ain’t the kind of a man I thought you 
was — you ain’t square.” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 155 

Holding himself very erect, the ancient sailor 
man faced about and stalked swiftly out of the 
yard ; but with each step his head drooped a little 
lower over his broad chest, and there was a tinge 
of sorrow in the very poise of his round blue 
hat. 

Then the world became very dark indeed to the 
brownfaced boy in the blue sailor suit. He looked 
toward the kennel, from which just the tip of a 
black nose was protruding, then toward the broad 
back of the old man rapidly disappearing in the 
distance — disappearing with all the treasures of 
that bottomless mine of stories, with those clever 
hands which could whittle and make anything a 
boy wanted, with that jolly round face which al- 
ways came into his life like the first rays of the 
morning sun; and then the thought came home 
to him that he had brought this calamity upon 
himself simply because he was not square; and 
once more he threw himself upon the grass, but 
this time in a sorrow too deep for tears. 

According to our various magnitudes we all 
experience much the same emotional storms ; and 
at this moment, Donald was standing upon the 
rocks of his own St. Helena, looking out through 
the ragged gray mist of fog and foam; but see- 


156 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


ing only the tattered and bloody fragments of 
his lost empire. 

Forgiveness is not a canine virtue, it is a 
canine characteristic; and after the child had 
lain in the Slough of Despond for nearly an hour, 
Olaf crept out of his kennel and gazed at him 
wistfully. Step by step he came closer, and at 
last touched the child’s hand with the cold tip 
of his nose. 

Donald rose to his knees, and for a moment the 
two gazed at each other in embarrassment. Then 
Donald threw his arms around the Great Dane’s 
neck, and the floodgates of his ‘heart opened with 
the cry: ‘^Oh, Olaf, Olaf, Olaf!” 

He could say no more ; but he had said enough. 
While he clung to the dog with all the fervor of 
passionate repentance, the dog himself squirmed 
and twisted, gave little gurgles of joy, and 
wagged his tail a hundred strokes a minute. 
Pride? Ah, Olaf had a rich store of pride; but 
where is pride so great as when it stoops to 
pass beneath the arch of forgiveness to enter the 
fragrant garden of friendship. 

During this past hour an elderly man of sea- 
faring appearance had been rendering himself 
liable to a very reasonable investigation con- 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 157 


cerning his own sanity. He had taken a position 
on Devisadero just around the corner of a brick 
wall across from the Milroy place, and every 
few moments had peered anxiously around this 
corner. After satisfying himself that the child 
was still lying face down upon the grass, he 
would strike his left palm with his right fist, 
take off his round blue hat, wipe his perspiring 
dome, and then thrust his hands into his pockets 
and pace nervously to and fro. Now, when he 
saw the reconciliation, he waved his hat about 
his head and danced a most inspiring hornpipe — 
which was a very unusual pastime for a lone 
man of his years to indulge in upon that exclusive 
comer. 

No arrogant policeman or conscientious 
alienist offering intervention, this tar of advanced 
years but youthful skittishness proceeded to cele- 
brate his little festival of mirth carefree and un- 
molested. Then of a sudden, he stopped and ran 
his fingers through his side hair while a puzzled 
expression crossed his face. War he could un- 
derstand, but not diplomacy, and having issued 
his ultimatum it had suddenly dawned upon him 
that he had no personal share in the reconciliation 
which was taking place across the street. He 


158 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


looked blankly up at the brown house near which 
he was standing, at the six-foot brick wall which 
enclosed it, at the sky, and at the bay — and then 
he snapped his fingers and danced a few more 
steps. 

After this he raced down the hill to Pacific 
street, hurried along this to Pierce, and then 
crossed over to Broadway once more. As he 
puffed up the steep hill toward the Milroy place 
the telluric inequalities of the city thrust them- 
selves upon his attention. ‘'For goats and birds 
this locality is most befittin’; but for animals 
which walk on their hind legs, this is the danged- 
est place to build a town ’at ever I see!” he 
exclaimed audibly and with fervor. 

Owing to the grades, the driveway came out 
just to the east of the house, the porte-cochere 
being merely an elongation of the front veranda. 
Sinbad did not see either the child or the dog 
as he mounted the steep sidewalk on Broadway; 
so he innocently opened the double gates and flung 
them shut behind him with a resounding clangj 
This brought the child on the run, and he hurried 
up to the ancient sailor man with Olaf frisking 
beside him. | 

“Oh goodie, goodie!” cried Donald, and then 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 159 

paused as he saw the gaze of the mariner resting 
upon a welt across the dog’s head. 

'‘Did you come back to play with us?” asked 
Donald very humbly. 

“I came back after my ship,” replied Sinbad 
with a reserve so lofty that it quite obliterated any 
suspicion of deception. 

“What ship ?” asked the child in a low, throaty 
tone. 

“Oh, just a ship I brought up here this morn- 
in’ ” replied Sinbad indifferently as he continued 
toward the bush under which his model was rest- 
ing. 

“What are you going to do after you get 
the ship?” asked Donald, who walked alongside 
and felt most uncomfortable. 

“Then, I’m going away again,” answered Sin- 
bad with granite inflexibility. 

For several moments the child’s voice refused 
to respond, and when at last he trusted it, it 
quavered in his little throat quite touchingly. “I’m 
awful, awful sorry;” he said, “I’m just dreadful 
sorry ! I wish you’d make a cat o’ nine tails, and 
whip me as hard as old Cap’n Grooky whipped 
Simon Slumberhead.” 

The ancient sailor man looked down into the 


160 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


pleading face of his diminutive chum, and saw it 
so full of penitence and yearning, that he well 
nigh relented; but he was a strict disciplinarian, 
and he felt that this was the life-and-death mo- 
ment to adjust the child’s steering-gear. ‘The 
cases are mighty different,” he answered hope- 
lessly, “mighty different. You see all that Simon 
Slumberhead did was to fall asleep and steer the 
Delightful Daisy off the rainbow, while you — you 
were wide awake when you — when you commit- 
ted the horrible deed.” 

Sinbad knew nothing about modern methods; 
but he drove his lessons home with riveting force. 
The child’s eyes were winking and his upper lip 
was trembling; but his backbone was stiff and he 
did not seek to dodge the blow. “Well, then,” 
he asked desperately, “isn’t there anything, at all, 
that we can do about it?” 

Sinbad sat down on the grass, rested his elbows 
on his knees, his chin on his hands, and his gloomy 
gaze upon vacancy. The child sat opposite him, 
his big gray eyes heavy with trouble, intently 
scrutinizing the face of his judge for the chang- 
ing light which would indicate a solution of the 
dire problem. His right hand rested caressingly 
upon the neck of Olaf who lay beside him, his 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 161 


big head pressed against the child’s knee. No 
more solemn court was in session at that moment 
in all the land, nor one with a higher ideal, or a 
more practical method of achieving justice. 

“I have finished the rope ladder,” said Sinbad 
at last, as though stating a fearful doom; ‘‘but 
now you cannot go up into the tree-house for 
a full week. If you behave like an officer and a 
gentleman for one complete week, then I’ll let you 
climb the rope ladder; and I shall never men- 
tion what has took place this mornin’, unless you 
run up the black flag again, which same is what 
you did a while back.” 

The child sighed, partly in relief that a method 
of redemption had been discovered, partly at 
the awful perspective seven days made when 
stood end to end. “This is Monday,” was all he 
said. 

“And now,” said Sinbad getting to his feet and 
letting the sun shine through the clouds once 
more, “even though you’re nothin’ but a regular 
land-lubber I shall show you the ship, and tell 
you the good news I had to tell you before — well, 
before what did happen started to happen.” 

And thus the triumvirate became once more a 
unit, although the tenseness of a great crisis still 
remained. 


CHAPTER VIII 


T IFE is made up of wheels within wheels, 
^ and it generally happens that a few of these 
wheels are missing cogs and causing irritation. 
Sinbad was entirely happy with his lot; but Ben 
Griffin — this being his legal appellation — found 
much to contend with. For many years Solomon 
Granger had been his pal, and before Solomon 
had died on their last cruise to China, Ben had 
promised to return a silver tobacco-box to Solo- 
mon’s widow. 

‘T have never used the bloomin’ thing,” said 
Solomon with the simple frankness which should 
distinguish one’s last words; ‘ffiut she gave it 
to me, and women never give nothing without 
puttin’ a feller under obligations to use it 
whether it kin be used or not. Now, that I won’t 
see her no more I don’t bear her a mite of ill will 
and it would chirk her up a bit if you’d tote it back 
to her and say I died with it in my hand. After 
I’m dead you’ll find it in my bag, wrapped up in 
a woolen sock she knit me when we was first 
married. You can have the clothes.” 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 163 


Ben had taken upon himself this solemn re- 
sponsibility and, in the largeness of his heart, had 
added a green parrot and a long-tailed monkey, in 
the hope that they would lighten the widow’s be- 
reavement. He had found Mrs. Granger living 
in a three-room cottage at the foot of Devisadero. 
It was on a low stretch of sand close enough to 
the wash of the bay to afford the fragrance of 
crabs and seaweed, when the tide was out and 
Mrs. Granger was in. 

The cottage was weatherbeaten on the exterior 
and enclosed by a discordant fence composed of 
a wide variety of sea and land wrecks. When 
Ben reached the cottage he removed his quid, 
wiped his lips, elongated his face, opened the rusty 
spring-mattress which served as a gate, and 
knocked at the door. The door was opened by 
a red-faced lady whose ample proportions, ob- 
trusive self-confidence, and stern features made an 
immediate and profound impression upon him. 

‘‘What do you want?” she demanded. 

“I came to tell you about Solomon,” replied 
Ben. 

“What’s he been up to, now? I’ll not send 
him a cent of money; so you needn’t try to work 
that game.” 


164 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


‘‘He don't want no money. All he asked for 
durin' the entire time he lay on his death-bed in 
far away China, was that I’d notify his widder 
an’ tell her not to grieve. He’d lay there, claspin’ 
his silver tobacco-box, which for some reason he 
loved above anything else on earth, and he’d 
moan out to touch a heart of stone, ‘Give her 
this here box, Ben. It’ll comfort her — pore 
thing.’ ” 

“He called me a pore thing, did he? Just 
like him. Well, I’ve been expectin’ him to do 
some such trick as this for the last twenty years. 
Sailor men ain’t never to be trusted — and I’ve 
known a heap of ’em.” 

The ensuing interview was not so painful as 
Ben had expected ; but, on the other hand, it was 
far more embarrassing. Mrs. Granger having long 
been hardened to the fallibility of those who go 
down to the sea in ships, was not minded to weep 
over spilt milk ; and so, like the practical soul that 
she was, she turned her eyes toward the prospects 
ahead. 

She soon discovered that in the course of an in- 
termittently industrious lifetime, Ben had man- 
aged to amass the sum of two hundred dollars, 
was entitled to a pension, and in many other 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 165 

particulars was a convenient sort of man to have 
within call; so she sent him after his traps and 
told him he could have the side room and board 
with her. The sailor excused himself in a weak, 
amateurish way; but the widow waved the ex- 
cuses aside and clinched the matter by saying: 
‘^Here, Til give you poor Solomon’s box to carry 
your finecut in.” 

Simplicity being the predominating character- 
istic of Ben Griffin, he was not prepared to cope 
with this new complication with the swiftness 
which a successful issue demanded. He preferred 
to carry his tobacco in a rubber pouch — even as 
the late Solomon had — but the situation was a 
delicate one. The lady was not overcome, and 
yet the conditions seemed to demand sentiment; 
refusal to accept the box would seem to cheapen 
its memories, on the other hand, acceptance of 
it appeared to be taking upon himself a sacred 
pledge. To just what he would be pledged he 
was not certain; but he had serious misgivings 
that in some occult way this silver box might 
hold the compelling determinism of an engage- 
ment gift, and he had never regarded himself 
as a marrying man. 

Years of tossing about at the whim of the 


166 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


elements had made him quite elemental. Reason 
was of little worth when the wind and the waves 
played at shuttlecock with a big ship ; and besides 
there were the officers to issue orders and assume 
responsibilities; so he had quietly settled into a 
placid mysticism wherein instinct and intuition 
answered every purpose and kept him comfort- 
able and contented. 

Furthermore, the sea in all her changing moods 
is distinctly feminine; she had borne him play- 
fully upon her bosom, petted him, soothed him 
to rest, charmed him into forgetfulness; and 
then, for no fault of his own, had suddenly 
ripped the planks of his vessel from beneath him, 
given him a sound beating and tossed him ashore 
to go dancing on her way without him. Ben 
Griffin was forced to admire the feminine char- 
acter; but in his simplicity, he did not covet it. 
He held the silver box in his open palm and re- 
garded it with growing apprehension. 

Mrs. Granger had kept her keen eyes upon 
his face skilfully estimating each variation of 
expression. She saw that Ben’s mind was full 
of doubt; but as long as her own was fully 
made up, she could see no reason for further 
delay. ‘'Go and get your dunnage,” said she; 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 167 


and with wheels shooting forth sparks as with 
set brakes they slid along the rails of habit, Ben 
Griffin had obeyed orders. 

Thus for nearly two years he had been board- 
ing with Mrs. Granger and daily he became more 
suspicious that Mrs. Granger — whom for ample 
cause he called Mrs. Ginger — intended to marry 
him. She had taken his two hundred dollars, 
had attended to his getting a twelve-dollar a 
month pension, and when it put in its quarterly 
appearance promptly assumed the responsibility 
of its disposition, generously making him a lim- 
ited allowance for tobacco. She took a deep in- 
terest in Ben and had procured him several jobs, 
from which he had promptly run away to go 
fishing in the battered blue boat which belonged 
to Danny Pritchard. Danny, in accordance with 
the general plot of the human comedy, loved Mrs. 
Granger with all his heart. He qualified by be- 
ing an old salt; but was handicappd by having 
neither fortune nor a record which entitled him 
to a pension. Mrs. Granger, who had been a 
renter and constantly in debt before Ben’s ar- 
rival, was now ambitious to own her own home, 
and there was still two hundred dollars due on 
it. 


168 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


Ben Griffin had managed to maintain his 
equilibrium only by storing his dignity in his 
lower hold, and battening down the hatches with 
philosophy. The consistent philosopher is as cer- 
tain of shock as the skipper who would approach 
a strange coast with his rudder spiked; but he 
who regards himself as an Epicurean and yet is 
at heart a Stoic, is prepared for all the storms and 
whirlpools of life. Epicureanism is like a bright 
star, a pleasant thing to steer by; but Stoicism 
is the stout hull which turns the storm-waves 
aside and enables one to keep his cargo dry no 
matter how fiercely the sea may rage. The book- 
philosopher cleaves to one school and becomes 
lopsided; but the philosopher who is beaten into 
shape by the hammer of circumstance, is rounded 
and buoyant and rolls through the waves of ad- 
versity without shipping more spray than the 
skuppers of good humor can handily attend to; 
and so Ben had mechanically preserved a sound 
and wholesome ego, even though placed in a 
most distasteful environment. 

As the months rolled by without his developing 
into an ardent wooer, Mrs. Granger’s masterful- 
ness had increased as her patience ebbed until Ben 
was getting desperate. His was one of those 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 169 


natures which are willing to risk all for friend- 
ship, but little for self; and therefore he hoped 
rather than rebelled. Now that his inner life 
is exposed it is easy to understand why he ex- 
panded so fully and freely when he stepped out 
of the gloom of his own world into the sun- 
shine of that delightful half-world, the gates of 
which were barred to all others except the dog 
and the child. This entire association was so 
unique and so satisfying that one could very 
easily join with the child in believing that the 
magic lamp was responsible for it all. 


CHAPTER IX 


D uring the long week in which Donald was 
on probation, Sinbad spent part of each day 
in putting additional touches to the tree-house. 
Eucalyptus trees have marked individuality, not 
only in the bark and leaf fashion they affect, but 
also in the manner of arranging their limbs. 
Some are worn straight, some droop gracefully; 
but the pair which had inspired Sinbad closely 
resembled two immense polo clubs. They grew 
from a large tree on just the level, and just 
opposite the second-story hall window; and he 
had built a safe platform with a rail around it, 
and a trap door near the limb to which the rope 
ladder was fastened. 

Olaf was to be tribes of native heathen, hordes 
of lions, herds of elephants and other items which 
add zest to the existence of shipwrecked mar- 
iners, and Donald and Sinbad were to flee up 
the rope ladder to safety. The tree-house was to 
be at all times well stocked with brown bread, 
marmalade, and a jar of water. As Sinbad spent 

170 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 171 


much time on the platform concealed from the 
child who watched from below, the rigor of the 
sentence became daily more apparent; and the 
week of probation was very, very long. 

Usually, before dawn on Sunday mornings 
Sinbad sculled the battered blue boat out through 
the Golden Gate, and came back with the morning 
wind, and he was all prepared to do this on the 
morning which marked the close of this long 
week, when the wistful face of the child suddenly 
appeared before him, and he decided to raise 
the embargo at once. 

Five minutes later he was puffing up the 
hill to the Milroy yard, and as he approached 
the kennel his heart was gladdened by the wel- 
coming thumps of a tail against its side. Olaf 
was straining eagerly at his chain, and after the 
gray paw had been solemnly offered and heartily 
shaken, and the chain unsnapped, the two con- 
spirators hastened to the side door. 

But this was much earlier than usual and the 
door was not unlocked; so they adjourned to the 
foot of the rope ladder to talk it over. “Fll tell 
ya what IVe a mind to do,” said Sinbad — the 
ears of the dog pointed toward him expectantly 


172 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


— ‘^IVe a good mind to swing into that hall 
window and wake him up, myself/' 

Of course it was only a happy coincidence, but 
the Great Dane having had his circulation stim- 
ulated by the early morning visit, began to pant 
gently. This appeared to the ancient sailor man 
to be affable consent, and he immediately began 
operations. 

A very high eucalyptus stood closer to the 
house than the one in which the platform had 
been built, and one long, sweeping branch curved 
until the upper portion was exactly above the 
center of a line reaching from the platform to 
the hall window. Sinbad climbed this limb and 
fastened a long rope to it, the lower end of which 
he had fastened to the limb from which dangled 
the rope ladder. The old man was pleasantly 
vain of his physical prowess and, in order to im- 
press his interested audience still further, he 
twisted his leg about the rope and slid toward the 
platform. He paused midway, with that weird 
mastery over ropes possessed by the sailors who 
learned their craft when the wooden frigate was 
queen of the sea, and steadying himself by his 
left hand he waved the right to Olaf ; and said ; 
‘‘You have a fair grip of your own, my lad, but 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 173 


you can see with your own eyes 'at the old man 
is still pretty able-bodied, himself." 

Sinbad had just finished making a loop near the 
end of the rope, in which to rest his foot, when 
the Japanese boy opened the side door and swept 
off the steps. The mariner clambered down the 
rope ladder, and giving Olaf a nudge in the ribs, 
said ; “Well, it's up to you, now, mate. Come on." 

After Olaf had rushed up the stairs, along the 
back hall, and across to Donald's room, they had 
their usual play and then Donald hurried into 
his clothes and down the stairs to see what the 
day had brought him. On Monday he had been 
called a land-lubber for the first time, by Satur- 
day night he had been promoted through various 
stages to the humble but honorable station of 
midshipmite ; but when he came out the side door 
and was greeted merrily with, “Ahoy, Cap'n," 
he knew that all was well again, and raced across 
the lawn to the rope ladder. 

Sinbad felt of his muscles — which really had 
some character by this time — taught him how to 
swing easily, and started him up the rope ladder, 
himself following close to prevent accidents; but 
Donald's small hands were rope-hardened by this 
time, and they were soon on the platform where 


174 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


he found things so much to his liking that he 
gave a shout of joy. Olaf sat at the foot of the 
ladder first giving nasal whimpers of disappoint- 
ment, and then vibrating his tail slightly as he 
fancied he heard steps being taken to elevate 
his ponderous bulk into the circle it most craved. 
It is really a trial to have all a dog’s wondrous 
love, and so many obstacles in the way of its 
perfect expression. 

Sinbad and Olaf usually spent several hours 
toward the middle of each Sunday in the dis- 
cussion of human idiosyncrasies. Olaf could not 
be called garrulous; but he was a prince of listen- 
ers, and any philosopher worthy the name would 
walk miles to find a sympathetic listener. The 
ancient sailor man would puff at his stubby pipe 
for ten minutes and then would say ; “As a mat- 
ter of fact, Olaf, I don’t mind confidin’ to ya 
that if Joshua had made the sun stand still the 
earth would have stopped whirlin’ with a jerk, 
the waters of the ocean would have banked up 
in a wave several miles high which would have 
swept along washin’ the whole globe as bald as 
the tip of your black nose — and yet what does 
this child’s mother do? She sends him away 
from us every Sunday to be taught just such 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 175 


things as this. It’s a scandal, says I, and I don’t 
mind who hears me.” 

Olaf invariably blinked his eyes in acquiescence, 
and Sinbad would wag his head dolefully and 
settle back to incubate a new thought. 

And, to be perfectly frank, Donald himself did 
not entirely approve of Sundays, there being too 
many interruptions. At nine he ate breakfast, at 
eleven he went to church with his mother ; but he 
did not go to Sunday School as she preferred her 
own methods and gave him an hour of her 
afternoon. Shocking as it may seem, Donald 
preferred Sinbad’s methods to any of the three 
above mentioned, and as there was generally a 
trip in the automobile during the afternoon, he 
was able to see very little of his two congenial 
friends on the first day of the week. 

But the foggy season was past, and that night 
he fell asleep with his brown hands clenched as 
though gripping the rope ladder, and his imagina- 
tion weaving glorious adventures which would be- 
fall him as soon as he had climbed to the top of 
it. 

At ten his father came in on tip-toe and stood 
for a moment at his bedside. The soft, rumpled 
hair fell in clusters about the rosy face, the breath- 


176 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


ing was deep and calm, and the lips seemed just 
on the point of parting in a smile. It was a boy’s 
face, strong and full of promise; but, with the 
long lashes resting upon the cheeks, the strength 
of the flesh seemed to have come under the sway 
of the spirit ; and the father’s eyes grew moist and 
tender as he gazed down upon the face of his boy. 
His social mission was to fight death for the good 
of the race, and he knew well the power and craft 
of his enemy. Mrs. Milroy from the opposite 
side of the bed watched her husband’s face and 
with every change of expression, her heart 
changed time in unison. There are many kinds 
of love but none so pure as that which sends its 
rays from parent to parent across the slumber- 
ing form of their child. 

Suddenly the father’s face contracted with pain 
and he clutched at his heart. ‘‘What is it, Don- 
ald?” cried Mrs. Milroy hurrying around the 
little bed. 

“If we should lose him, if we should lose him !” 
said the doctor in a tense voice. 

“Is there anything the matter with him ?” asked 
the mother anxiously. 

“No, he is in perfect health,” he replied, and 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 177 


then added from out his experience; ‘'but the 
blow falls so quickly sometimes.” 

“It is easy to see from which parent our son 
gets his queer imagination,” said Mrs. Milroy, 
leaning against her husband’s breast. “You frightr 
ened me.” 

Down in the little side room of Mrs. Granger’s 
weatherbeaten cottage, Sinbad the sailor, having 
made up his mind to arise before dawn the next 
day to take the sail he had missed that morning, 
was sleeping peacefully, an oaken chest drawn 
across the door of his apartment to prevent pos- 
sible but not probable intrusion. 

It was still dark when he awakened next morn- 
ing and sniffed himself full of salt air. He 
hastily arose, donned his simple attire, opened 
the window — he preferred this exit as it spared 
him Mrs. Granger’s bothersome questions — and 
stepped out on the soft sand, chuckling softly to 
himself. It is quite probable that he preserved 
his youth by continuing to act like a boy, and his 
attitude was emphatically boyish as he paused to 
listen. There being no sound from the cottage 
from which he had just made his escape, he re- 
moved the wire which held the make-shift gate — 
and then paused with a snap and put his hand to 


178 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


his ear. Through the dark morning air came 
the long-drawn howl of a dog — the same howl 
he had hgard on the night that Donald had run 
away — and the old man’s face went white. He 
did not reason about it; he simply gave the gate 
a shove and started for the Milroy home as fast 
as his legs could carry him. 

The howling had changed to barking by the 
time he reached Vallejo street; but by this time 
he smelled smoke, and ran up the hill with his 
heart beating violently. Already the neighbors 
had gathered, and the clang of an engine could 
be heard in the distance. 

A breeze had started from the west and the 
left side of the house was already blazing near 
the front where the fire had started. The howl- 
ing of the dog had awakened the doctor who had 
aroused the household. 

Civilization is laid on in layers, like the leaves 
of an artichoke; but at heart, man is still a sav- 
age, and nothing strips off the outer layers so 
ruthlessly as a fire in the night. Ages ago when 
the primeval forest was fired by a stroke of 
lightning, man’s early ancestors had fled from 
what they supposed was the wrath of their gods 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 179 

— and this old, old fear still lurks in our veins to- ^ 
day. 

Doctor Milroy had aroused his wife and then 
hurried down the hall. He awakened the nurse, 
told her to carry Donald out without waking him, 
and then hastened to the third floor to arouse the 
two other girls. When he returned to his wife 
he found her beside herself at what had seemed 
his long absence, and it required all his care to 
get her from the burning building through the 
side door. The nurse had seemed perfectly calm, 
and there had been plenty of time for her; so 
the doctor gave all his attention to the restora- 
tion of his wife. 

But it was panic, not calm, which had kept 
the nurse quiet at the doctor^s startling sum- 
mons; and she was never afterward sure exactly 
what happened. The door into the nursery was 
always kept open at night; but in hysteria she 
closed it and could not open it again. She started 
into the hall to go around to Donald's room by 
the other way — and that was the last she could 
remember. Her spirit was brave and willing; 
but no flesh is stronger than its own physical 
heart, and when the two girls came from the floor 
above, they found her in a faint at the head of the 


180 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


stairs which led to the ground floor, picked her up, 
carried her down the stairs, and into the yard. 

When she revived she was frantic and rushed 
,to enter the building; but the smoke was roll- 
ing forth in clouds now, and through its black 
gloom red tongues could be seen darting hither 
and thither like the tongues of angry serpents. 

It was just at this juncture that the ancient 
sailor man arrived. ‘‘Where is Donald, where is 
Donald he called as he rushed from one group 
of neighbors to another; but they looked blankly 
into one another's faces, and the old man clenched 
his fists and called aloud, “Donald, Donald, 
Donald!^’ 

Doctor Milroy heard and came to him on the 
run. “Where is Donald?’’ both men asked at 
the same instant; and in the silence which fol- 
lowed, each stood looking into the heart of the 
other. A hush fell upon the spectators who had 
caught the nature of the crisis, and in this silence 
a queer, grating sound was heard down the drive- 
way, followed by a snap and a rattle, and the 
Great Dane bounded toward them just as the 
nurse, who had broken away from the cook who 
thought her out of her mind, rushed to the side 
door and tried to open it. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 181 

The doctor seized the young woman’s wrist. 

Where is my boy ?” he demanded roughly. 

‘T am going to get him !” she cried, wrenching 
herself free and opening the side door. A volume 
of hot smoke poured into her face, and the doc- 
tor pulled her back and said quietly; ‘T shall go 
myself — I never want to see you again.” 

''You can’t live in there,” said Sinbad, taking 
a firm grip on the doctor’s arm and closing the 
door. Turning to those nearest him the old salt 
cried in the tones he had used long ago when a 
gunner on Faragut’s flagship; "No man can live 
in there. Hold him — I know a better way.” 

As two of the neighbors seized the doctor’s 
arms and sought to overpower him, the fire-en- 
gine reached the top of the steep Devisadero hill, 
and Sinbad, the sailor, swarmed up the rope lad- 
der to the platform in the tree. He had that 
morning untied the foot-loop in the rope which 
hung from the tall eucalyptus, and now started 
to tie it again with rough, knobby fingers; but 
for all that, fingers which had clewed up the top- 
gallants when the yard-arms were kissing the 
crest of a wave. 

And what of Olaf — Olaf who had first given 
the alarm? With eyes, nose, and ears he had 


182 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


watched the inmates leave the building, and he 
knew that the child was not among them. When 
the nurse had opened the side door and the hot 
smoke had poured forth, Olaf, the undaunted, 
had darted in ; and when the sailor had closed the 
door to shut off the draft, the dog well knew 
that this cut off his own avenue of escape. Inside, 
the passageway was filled with smoke and heavy 
with stifling gases, and hungry teeth of flame 
were already gnawing their way through the par- 
tition. 

A man could not have breathed, seen, or rea- 
soned in such a place; but Olaf had need of none 
of these. The lamp of instinct does not throw 
so wide a circle of light as the lamp of reason; 
but it always points out the right path. From 
the beginning, no dog has ever doubted it, or 
tried to prove why it was true, and so dogs are 
still in harmony with the great waves of nature. 

It was Olaf’s custom to run with he-ad carried 
low during tense moments, and so he had what 
little air there was ; his wise gray feet had mem- 
ories of their own and needed no help from his 
eyes; and even when a great sheet of flame shot 
across the stairway and enveloped him, he did not 
pause. With gasping lungs and heart beating as 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 183 


though it would burst, he raced up through the 
ghoulish murk of flame-ripped smoke, along the 
upper hall, turned where it turned without even 
grazing the corner, clutched the child’s night 
clothes at the breast, and, just as Sinbad fin- 
ished tying his footloop, the hall window was 
raised by Donald, himself, and his clear voice 
piped out above the roar and din; “I’m up here 
— Olaf has me.” 

All eyes were raised to the window in wonder. 
Beneath him the side door was already crackling 
with the heat, and when the firemen rushed up 
with a ladder, a gust of living flame drove them 
back; but from the platform in the tree a deep, 
bass voice boomed out with a confidence it had 
learned long ago when shot and shell were flying, 
or the Storm King was raging aloft; “Hold 
steady, there, Cap’n. I’m cornin’ over to ya.” 

The eyes below were turned in his direction 
just as the ancient sailor man swung off the plat- 
form with a lunge which swept him through the 
air to the window, as free and light as a bird. 

Olaf’s head was hanging low and his heavy 
breathing sounded like the working of a broken 
bellows. Sinbad stooped and laid a rough hand 
tenderly on the dog’s head. “Stay right where 


184 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


you are, shipmate,” he said solemnly, ''and Fll 
come back for ya — I will, so help me, God.” 

Then, with the child in his arms and the cheers 
of those below rising up to him, he swung out 
again in a long, graceful curve to the platform. 
Two firemen were there to receive him and take 
the child. They tried to shake his hand ; but the 
fire was raging behind him and he Had no time. 
"No, I have to go back,” he said. 

"Look,” said one of the men, pointing to where 
a heavy cloud of smoke had bulged out until it 
hid the house ; "you can’t make it.” 

"It’s only a dog, anyway,” said the other. 

"That’s all,” said the ancient sailor man grimly 
as he steadied himself on the edge of the plat- 
form for a second, and then swung out through 
the smoke, his lungs full of air and his heart full 
of courage. 

A stream of water had been turned on the 
side door and the flames had been checked for a 
moment ; but inside they were tearing at the stair- 
way and the smoke in the upper hall was hot and 
suffocating. "Where are ya, mate?” called Sin- 
bad as he stepped from the low sill ; but there was 
no answer and no movement. 

He felt at his feet and found the dog lying 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 185 


there. A groan came from between his set teeth ; 
but there was no hysteria, no panic, no tangled 
nerves in his make-up, and even as he leaned from 
the window to catch a breath of air, his deft fin- 
gers were unfastening the belt from around his 
waist. Never had learning to think with his 
fingers stood him in better stead than now; he 
knew every way that a rope could be tied, and in 
a trice had twisted a small loop in the rope about 
five feet above the one in which his own foot was 
to rest. Next, he fastened the belt around the 
dog just back of his front legs. 

Sinbad’s waist was ample and a good eight 
inches of the belt was left. With his wrist 
through the lower loop so that the rope could not 
escape him, he raised the dead weight of the dog 
to his shoulder, caught another breath, thrust the 
end of the belt through the upper loop, twisted it 
around the rope, ran it through its own slack and 
pulled taut. It was as simple as pressing a but- 
ton, and took about the same amount of time. 

‘‘The’s a heap dependin^ on the propellers this 
cruise,’’ muttered the old man as he let the weight 
of the dog settle on the rope. Then he placed his 
own foot in the lower loop, pulled the dog into the 
window as far as possible in order to get the 


186 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


benefit of his weight, and with a mighty push of 
his free foot, he launched himself on his trip of 
desperation. 

Those below had only been able to catch fleet- 
ing glimpses of him through the smoke, and now 
as he swung above them he seemed to be going 
too slowly to reach the platform; but there was 
added weight as well as added inertia, this time, 
and the voyage was safely made — though without 
an inch to spare. As the firemen leaned forward 
and grabbed the rope, a great shout went up from 
the crowd, and tender were the hands which 
helped to lower the unconscious form of the dog 
to the ground. 

For a minute the ancient sailor man sat on the 
platform coughing and rubbing his eyes, and then 
he rattled down the rope ladder and hurried after 
the men who were carrying the dog to a safe dis- 
tance. Olaf was a terrible sight from the flames 
which had torn at him as he had rushed up the 
stairs; but while his own beautiful home was go- 
ing up in unheeded flames behind him, Doctor 
Milroy used every known method to resuscitate 
his loyal four-footed henchman. Such pure, 
vigorous life as was OlaFs is not prone to sur- 
render, and at last the poor, tortured lungs were 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 187 

made to function again. ^'Do you think he’ll 
make it ?” asked Sinbad tremulously. 

'‘He’ll have all the help there is,” replied the 
doctor in his fighting voice. 

He hurried to a neighbor’s, telephoned for 
the ambulance from St. Stephen’s, and then 
swathed the dog’s blistered skin in olive oil and 
bandages. The mariner remained at Olaf’s side 
until the ambulance came and took him away. 
"Fair days, and pleasant winds to ya, mate,” he 
called out as the ambulance drove out of the yard, 
and then he turned and gazed sadly at the 
smouldering ruins of the house. 

"I don’t see why they don’t build houses out of 
fire-crackers, instead of wood,” he grumbled as 
he walked down the hill to be away from the 
crowd, and to partake of whatever Mrs. Ginger 
had to offer as a substitute for the real food his 
morning appetite was craving. 


CHAPTER X 


HE days which followed were dreary ones 



for the ancient sailor man. He spent much 
time in haunting the ruins left by the fire; but as 
the Milroys had gone to a hotel, he seldom saw 
them. One day the doctor came out with an 
architect, and found Sinbad sitting on a pile of 
rubbish, sadly looking into the ashes. 

“Where do you live?” asked the doctor. “I 
have been trying to find you ever since the fire.” 

“I haven’t done any real livin’ since then,” 
replied Sinbad ; “but I’m generally hove to at the 
foot of this street, ready to begin livin’ again as 
soon as you put up another house and get Donald 
back here. How is Olaf ?” 

The important feature of this interview was 
made apparent as soon as the doctor disclosed to 
Sinbad that he had set aside a thousand dollars 
for him. At first the mariner flatly refused this 
fortune; but after Doctor Milroy had made it 
clear that his own loss had been covered by insur- 
ance, and that he really possessed ample addi- 


188 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 189 

tional means, the sailor relented and listened to 
an explanation of the methods of banking as 
eagerly as a child. 

“And you say all I’ll have to do to get money 
will be to write out how much I want and sign 
my name to it?” he asked. 

“That’s all,” replied the doctor, smiling. 

“Well, that’s handier ’n a pension. This here 
is a wonderful country.” 

Sinbad agreed to meet the doctor at the bank 
next day to conclude the formalities incidental to 
becoming a man of substance. He arrived on the 
dot and by paying close attention and saying no 
more than was necessary, he flattered himself that 
none would have suspected him of being a 
stranger to banking circles. As soon as the doc- 
tor left him he returned and made out a twenty- 
five dollar check, thrust it defiantly into the tell- 
er’s window, and waited with arms akimbo until 
the money was counted out to him. He put it 
into his pocket and hurried out to the street 
where he stepped into a convenient doorway and 
carefully examined his pelf. It had every appear- 
ance of regular money, and he wagged his head 
solemnly. “Talk about your magic lamps,” he 
muttered; “this here beats any tale I ever told. 


190 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


myself. I think I’ll bend some new canvas and 
do the Admiral proud.” 

With his round blue hat cocked jauntily on his 
head he sauntered through the retail district as one 
who had no determinant save his own whimful 
desire. He scrutinized the garb of those who 
passed him and the attractions displayed in the 
show-windows. Finally a fancy vest appealed to 
him and he stepped into a store, and proceeded to 
purchase it. Finding that his money was taken 
without question, he spent the rest of it, and 
hastened homeward with dancing eyes. ‘T’ll 
bet the Admiral won’t know me,” he said at least 
once on every block as he pictured the effect his 
new raiment would have on Donald. 

When he reached his room, he locked the door 
and dragged his chest in front of it. Next he 
hung his hat over the key-hole and proceeded to 
shave, brush out his curling beard, and ruffle his 
side hair. Unfortunately, in making his pur- 
chases, he had been guided by style rather than 
size, and the result of his adornment was not 
satisfactory. The shirt and stiff collar were 
finally clewed into place by a liberal use of twine, 
the vest did very well after he had split it up the 
back and cut the armholes larger, but the brown 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 191 


checked suit had a most wooden appearance, and 
the light tan shoes were both noisy and offensive. 
Still, he stuck to his purpose until he came to the 
derby hat. He put it on three different ways, 
looking at his reflection in the cracked looking- 
glass — and then he kicked it into the comer, 
heaped the brown suit, tan shoes, and fancy vest 
on top of it, tore the shirt into bandages — he had 
needed one on his first cruise, and now had a 
chest ful — and then arrayed himself in his old, 
familiar garb under a running fire of contented 
ejaculations. 

He looked repentantly at the heap of clothing 
in the corner for a moment and then his face 
lighted with a smile of relief. ‘‘What^s the 
bloomin’ odds?” he exclaimed. “When I want 
more all I have to do is to make out a paper and 
go and get ’em. This here is a great country!” 

He hid his undesirable finery from the prying 
eyes of Mrs. Ginger, took a few turns up and 
down his room, “just to see that all the ropes ran 
through the blocks without ketchin’,” and taking 
a cane of curious foreign carving, started forth to 
the hospital. 

An alert young woman sat at a desk near the 
entry. She fixed a questioning gaze upon the 


192 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


ancient sailor man and said, ‘Well,” in a tone 
which made it perfectly plain that this was not 
the time, the place, nor the girl for triflers. 

“Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’m,” said Sinbad 
decorously, “but would you kindly ask the officer 
in charge o’ this watch, if I could have a few 
words with Olaf — him as was the hero of the 
fire.” 

“You mean the dog?” 

“Yes, Ma’m.” 

When the matron came she explained that it 
had been difficult to keep the dog quiet, and that 
Doctor Milroy did not wish the bandages dis- 
turbed. 

“I’ve heard tell a lot about this here skin-splic- 
in’ for burn-wounds,” said Sinbad earnestly; 
“and I want to say as how I’m willin’ to divide.” 

The matron smiled. “I do not think that 
human skin would graft on a dog,” she said; 
“and anyway, he is doing splendidly.” 

“I’m rejoiced to hear it, Ma’m. Could I peek 
at him, just for a moment? I’m his second best 
[friend.” 

The old salt said this with such an air of con- 
scious and justifiable pride, that he won his point. 
A small room had been fitted up for the dog, and 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 193 


he lay upon a regulation cot, literally covered with 
bandages. Sinbad entered on tiptoe, and stood 
on the threshold a moment looking down at his 
battered friend. 

“Well, messmate,” he said in a voice which 
trembled a little, “I’m powerful glad to see ya 
again. Don’t ya move.” 

The long gray tail began to thump the cot at 
the sound of the familiar voice but otherwise 
the dog remained quiet. Sinbad crossed the room, 
held the huge paw in a tight grip for a minute 
while his weatherbeaten face grew tender, and 
then said cheerily : “I can’t stay any longer, mate ; 
but you just stick it out in patience — you’re doin’ 
fine, and I’m proud of ya. Now, good-bye — 
pleasant weather and fair winds to ya.” 

Donald had not been permitted to see the dog at 
all, as it was feared that neither one could be 
kept under restraint; and Donald had been eat- 
ing his heart out at the down-town hotel. 

About a week after his visit to the hospital, 
Sinbad was sitting under the tree from which the 
rope ladder still hung. He was smoking the 
chubby pipe, and there was a philosophical ex- 
pression upon his russet face. Glancing up he saw 
Donald approaching, and leaped to his feet with 


194 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


a shout: '*Ahoy, Cap’n! Mornin’ to yal You’re 
lookin’ as bright as a frigate’s brasses.” 

‘'Oh, I’m all right,” returned the child, as they 
seated themselves, Donald watching the mariner 
closely and assuming exactly the same attitude. 
“I am just awful glad to see you again. I have 
been worrying about you a lot.” 

“Worry in’ about me? Well, that’s kind of 
you; but what you been worryin’ about?” 

“Well, you see the magic lamp was lost in the 
fire, and I was afraid you might go back to where 
you came from, and I couldn’t find you again.” 

“Well now that’s cur’ous,” said Sinbad with a 
slow and surprisingly suggestive wink, which gave 
him ample time to marshal his thoughts. “Do 
you know that at first I could hardly sleep from 
worryin’ about that lamp, myself. What I feared 
was just this : I feared that some low-minded in- 
dividual might find that lamp and steer me all over 
the universe, a runnin’ of errands for him. You 
can see for yourself that I’ve got my shark’s 
tooth hangin’ about my neck.” 

“I thought you always wore it,” replied the 
observant Donald. 

“I have good cause,” said Sinbad, holding up 
his knobby forefinger. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 195 

“What have you been doing lately?” asked 
Donald. 

“Well,” replied Sinbad ponderously, “IVe been 
thinkin' mostly. Just now, for instance, I was 
thinkin’ of how some was took and some was left. 
For example: there was your house, a thing of 
beauty and a joy forever. What^s left of it? 
Nothin’ but the foundation. Then there was 
Olaf’s house — it suited him to a big red T. 
What’s left of it? Nothin’ but this here staple” 
— he pulled a charred and dilapidated staple from 
his pocket and passed it over for the child’s in- 
spection before continuing in tones of the deepest 
disgust — “and there was that infernal statute, 
which alius was in everybody’s way, and yet not 
a hair of her head was injured.” 

“That’s right,” cried the child, convinced that 
he had been listening to the inspired words of a 
sage. “I wish she had been burned and our 
houses had been left.” 

Inasmuch as the lady in question was of marble 
and had a copious supply of water at her com- 
mand, this wish was not a modest one. 

“What do you think !” exclaimed Donald after 
a pause. “The Cummings have gone to Europe, 
and we are going to live in their house — just 


196 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


around the corner — until our new one is built; 
and Olaf is to come home to-morrow and father 
has had a new house built for him which will 
be here this afternoon and mother says she is 
sorry she wouldn’t let him come in our house 
and after the new one is built she is going to.” 

‘Ts that all of your remark?” asked Sinbad 
anxiously as Donald gasped out the final clause. 

The child nodded his head and the ancient 
sailor man jumped to his feet, shouting : “Hooray ! 
By the Great Typhoon, I’ve a notion to pitch a 
small tent, and kind o’ sort o’ keep him com- 
pany. Ya see, he’s been used to havin’ someone 
waitin’ on him lately, and he’ll be lonesome-like, 
at first.” 

“Oh, go ahead and do it!” cried Donald en- 
thusiastically. “There’s a dandy place right over 
there.” 

When Donald reached the yard next morning, 
he found an “A” shaped tent standing on the spot 
he had selected ; but Sinbad was not there and he 
sat down to await him. Soon, he heard the in- 
spiring melody of “Nancy Lee” being whistled 
with fervor, and as this was the official tune of 
the triumvirate, he hurried to the gate. There 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 197 


they came- — Doctor Milroy, Olaf, and the ancient 
sailor man. 

Poor Olaf was a sad sight; the skin had healed 
over the burned patches, but they were still bare 
and red, and, as this was his first long walk, he 
tottered from weakness. Sinbad rolled along 
solicitously at his side, ready to steady and advise 
him, or even to pick him up and carry him, should 
this seem necessary. 

At the first sound of the child’s voice, the great 
dog raised his massive head, and started to wag 
his expressive tail. As soon as Donald had raced 
up to him they threw themselves into each other’s 
arms. Words do not matter at such a time as this 
and, in effect, this is exactly what they did. Their 
heads were about on a level, and Donald threw 
his arms about Olaf’s neck, and Olaf placed his 
head on Donald’s shoulder, and they pressed their 
cheeks tightly together. Donald spoke to Olaf in 
the low, sweet murmur, which is love-talk the 
world around; and Olaf responded in the queer 
nasal whine which every dog-lover knows — ■ 
‘‘NNNNN-uf, NNNN-uf, N-N-uf.” Try this in 
the presence of a dog, and when it is done cor- 
rectly, be it toy spaniel or St. Bernard, he will 
tilt his head and wag his tail. 


198 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


During this scene Sinbad turned his back and 
whistled '‘Nancy Lee,” while his eyes winked with 
extreme rapidity. "Whenever you get tired o' 
makin’ a fuss over the projical son, Cap'n,” he 
finally growled, "we’d better show him his new 
quarters.” 

Olaf was much interested in the changes, but 
the walk had wearied him and he was soon glad 
to creep into his new kennel. A soft sheet had 
been laid upon the straw to protect the tender skin, 
and after turning himself around he slowly 
stretched out with a satisfied sigh, and permitted 
his two colleagues to take turns in stroking his 
head. 

"Will the hair really and truly grow in again?” 
asked Donald skeptically. 

"Can a fish digest water?” responded Sinbad 
with confidence. "I’ve got a black salve as will 
grow hair over the eyeballs of a white whale in 
two weeks, and him never missin’ a day’s work. 
I’m goin’ down to get it right now.” 

Sinbad returned with the black salve and an 
armful of personal property, which, added to what 
was already stored in the A tent, completed his 
moving. The triumvirate regaled themselves upon 
a picnic supper, and then Sinbad escorted Donald 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 199 


to his new home and returned just at dusk to 
Olaf’s new home. 

“You see that there tent he asked Olaf, point- 
ing with his finger. As soon as the dog had fixed 
his attention as directed, the old man resumed 
whimsically : “Well, that’s where the chief stew- 
ard is expected to bunk; but not to be keepin’ no 
secrets from an old friend, I don’t mind tellin’ 
you that the chief steward don’t feel nowise 
sleepy.” 

He put on a warm pea-jacket, spread a rubber 
ponchero on the ground and a rough woolen 
blanket on this. Then he lighted the short, black 
pipe, and gave a long-drawn-out grunt of satis- 
faction. After the dog had made a thorough in- 
spection of the yard, he returned and lay close 
to the old man, resting his head upon his lap with 
a grunt of satisfaction so similar to that which 
he himself had recently expressed, that Sinbad 
grinned as he threw part of the blanket over the 
dog. “I reckon,” he remarked reflectively, “that 
before the humans invented language, all of us 
animals could understand each other perfectly. 
Well, as far as that goes, there wasn’t much to 
understand, those days.” 

For a long time, he sat quietly stroking the 


200 THE DOG AND THE CHILD 

big head in his lap, and then he began to 
chuckle. ‘‘I’ve just got to tell you about Mrs. 
Ginger,” he said, “but I wouldn’t have you say a 
word about it to Donald, him bein’ still nothin’ 
but a child in most things, especially age. Well, 
this here Mrs. Ginger, she is of a most amazin’ 
marriageable disposition, and I was what she 
had selected as the next victim; and if it hadn’t 
’a’ been for the wamin’s of the late lamented 
Solomon, I’m willin’ to bet a deadeye again’ a 
sheet-anchor she’d have landed me. She is a deep 
an’ energetic woman, she sure is. 

‘"But you see, since I’ve become a man of means, 
I’m able to lord it around pretty free an’ promis- 
cuous when it comes to tyin’ down the safety- 
valve on my expense account; so I put up a joke 
on Danny Pritchard. Danny’s about the puzzle- 
wittedest chap I ever knew, and he was foolish 
to marry with the widow Ginger; so I told him if 
he would give me his blue boat to show he was 
a man who appreciated the bestowin’ of a favor, 
I’d endow him with enough property to give him 
standin’ with his lady love. He was as eager 
about it as a sane man would have been at the 
promise of a life of ease and comfort; so he gave 
me the blue boat, and I gave him my new clothes. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 201 


fancy vest, tan shoes, soup-bowl hat and all — 
everything 'at makes up a complete outfit — and 
if you’ll believe me, the widow Ginger was so 
betaken with that new rig that she said if he had 
two hundred dollars to pay off her mortgage, 
she’d wed him on the spot. 

• ‘‘He came back to where I was waitin’, all 
bowed over with woe ; but I waved my hand, like 
this, and says to him, ‘What’s two hundred dol- 
lars between friends. I’ll get it for you in an 
hour if you’ll promise never to tell where you 
got it or to bother me for more.’ He was all on 
edge an’ willin’ to promise an)d:hing, so he agreed 
an’ I took the paper down an’ got the money, and 
they were spliced this afternoon as tight as the 
law can make ’em. 

“When it was all over and there was no 
chance of her fonlin’ me again, I shook the blush- 
in’ husband by the hand and sez to him ; ‘Danny, 
here is a bit o’ jewelry as I want to present to 
you as a weddin’ gift. Take it with my blessin’, 
an’ guard it with your life;’ and with that I 
thrust the silver tobacco box into his hand and 
ran like a school o’ shiners from a hungry whale. 

“Man Olaf — you can’t imagine how good 
I feel! I suppose you feel some buoyed up over 


202 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


havin’ escaped from a hospital without havin’ 
any legs cut off; but if your whole big body 
was made up of imagination, you couldn’t 
begin to estimate how free I feel this minute. I 
feel as though I had just come out of dry dock 
with my barnacles scraped off, my seams fresh 
calked, and a new coat of paint to give the fin- 
ishin’ touch.” 

It was a crisp October night, the moon was 
full, the sky clear; and hour after hour, the two 
comrades resting beneath the tree made no move- 
ments, save those required in the manipulation 
of a pipe, the patting of a massive head, or the 
responsive thumping of a sinewy gray tail. The 
lights twinkled across the bay, the huge bulk of 
Angel Island loomed up like a sleeping giant, 
every ten seconds the great light on Alcatraz 
winked solemnly at the ancient sailor man, as if 
to congratulate him upon the happy union of 
Danny Pritchard and Mrs. Ginger, while over 
toward Telegraph Hill, the trolley cars, like gigan- 
tic glow-worms, crawled up and down through 
the m3rriad street lights. 

It was one of those beautiful nights when all 
the universe is in harmony, and in the mind of 
the ancient sailor man old memories and longings 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 203 

mingled themselves with new sensations and emo- 
tions until fairy fingers blended them all to- 
gether in the painting of a wonderful future. 

And who can say what strange blood-memories 
stole out of the darkness to give new stimulus 
to the dog. In spite of his adaptability, a dog is 
always a man's dog. The man, the horse, and the 
dog have fought together as comrades in that 
age-old battle which has given to man the mas- 
tery of the world; and now man has kicked down 
the ladder up which he climbed and is contemplat- 
ing a dogless and horseless age. Chemistry and 
mechanics are remodeling the world until the toil 
of dog and horse will soon be no longer essential, 
and the sentiments of the past have small influ- 
ence with the economy of the future. 

Neither dog nor horse can know the nature 
of man’s mental evolution, but the long chain 
of centuries have left their imprint; and still 
their hearts respond to blood-memories of that 
golden age when they shared with man in the 
pomp and glory of conquest. A dog is always 
a man’s dog. He asks for no dainty fare and 
pampered petting; all he asks is to work on 
shares, let the fate be what it may. If it’s a silk 
coverlet, why, a real dog expects to take his rest 


204 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


on it without question; but if it’s a snowbank or 
the shade of a cactus you will find the same cheery 
grin on the dog’s face, and he couldn’t be bribed 
by the softest, graftiest snap in the world. 

And so, as Olaf nestled against the knee of the 
ancient sailor man, it is quite probable that his 
keen senses harked back to the time when his 
ancestors were the outposts and sentinels of the 
world ; and it is also quite probable that some of 
his tail thumpings were caused by unconscious 
satisfaction at the thought that his ancestors had 
so well guarded the present that was, that they 
had made possible the present that is. The dreams 
of a dog, like the dreams of a man, span many a 
changing form until they reach back into the 
gloom of antiquity. 

Finally the old Moon — that trustworthy con- 
fidant of all the lovers of all the ages — gently 
touched their eyes with slumber, and next morn- 
ing when young Donald Milroy sprang from his 
bed, made a hasty toilet, and raced to the camp 
of his boon companions, he found them quietly 
sleeping beneath the eucalyptus tree; but at the 
sound of his footsteps, Olaf arose with a bound, 
and Sinbad hurried after to open the gate. 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 205 

‘'Ahoy, Cap’n,” he called gaily, “where you 
been all mornin’ ?” 

“Seems to me you’re up pretty early,” replied 
Donald, a little resentfully. “How’s Olaf ? He’s 
lots better this morning, isn’t he? Did he sleep 
in his new house last night ? It was bringing him 
home that made him feel better, wasn’t it? How 
long do you think it will be before the hair 
grows ?” 

“Next time you come into port with a cargo 
like that, Cap’n,” warned Sinbad, “you ought to 
shift it around some, so that a feller could get to 
one thing at a time.” 

“My father don’t want me to have a nurse 
any more,” continued the excited Donald, ignor- 
ing the interruption. “He wants me to have you, 
and my mother does, too.” 

The ancient sailor man looked quizzically at 
this small herald of glad tidings. A great surge 
of emotion had come to his heart driving forth 
forever the forebodings which had stolen in and 
taken possession of it whenever he had contem- 
plated the lonely years of his old age; but the 
ancient sailor man was accustomed to painting 
over promptly the patches in his bulwarks so that 
none could see where he had been hit, and Donald 


206 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


gathered from his expression that this was a prop- 
osition not to be entered into without due con- 
sideration. ^‘Well/’ said Sinbad ponderously, 
'‘I think I’d be willin’ to sign up for that cruise 
without waitin’ to be drugged an’ shanghaied — 
providin’ — it was thoroughly understood at the 
start that I wouldn’t be expected to teach you 
Greek and Latin.” 

‘'My father says that all you will be expected 
to teach me will be how to be a big, strong, brave 
man,” replied the child with such simple serious- 
ness, that Sinbad felt very, very peculiar at his 
emotional centers. “Please say, right now, that 
you will come,” pleaded Donald, taking the sail- 
or’s big hand in both his own. “If you say that 
you will come, my father will build your cottage 
before he begins work on our house.” 

“I refuse to live in a cottage,” replied Sinbad 
with much finality. “Mrs. Ginger lived in a cot- 
tage, and livin’ in cottages is a sign of bad luck 
for me.” 

“I wish that you would not say another word 
about Mrs. Ginger until those seven white geese 
come flying down the wind, all on a straight line,” 
said Donald, not without a trace of righteous 
indignation. “Would you rather have a room in 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 207 


our house than a cottage? My mother said she 
would not object to your sleeping in our house if 
you would promise not to smoke in bed ; but my 
father thought you would like a cottage better.’' 

Sinbad’s face was able to maintain the gravity 
due to so serious a situation but his body under- 
went a vibratory motion which must have greatly 
.stimulated his circulation. '^T’ll tell you what I’ll 
live in,” he said; ‘T’ll live in a ship. I’ll have 
your father build a regular ship in this yard after 
the design of an old Spanish wreck I once saw, 
and that’ll suit me best of all.” 

Donald danced off in high excitement to report 
to his father the successful issue of his em- 
bassy; and true enough a small house of curious 
design was built within a circle of hydrangeas. 
It somewhat resembled a dwarf Spanish galleon, 
with a railing about the top, a mast with enough 
rigging to instruct a small boy, an assortment of 
flags to indicate the station of the ranking officer 
who might be on board, and plenty of rope lad- 
ders. The windows were portholes, and across 
the stem and at the bows, which looked for all 
the world like the corresponding parts of a sea- 
worthy vessel, was painted — THE LOTUS 
FLOWER. 


208 


THE DOG AND THE CHILD 


Olaf’s new kennel was put out of commission 
and a cabin was provided for him in the north- 
west corner of this attractive craft. There were 
two openings to this apartment, the outer one hav- 
ing no door, the inner one having a door which 
could be operated by a cord from Sinbad’s bunk. 
Oh, of all the ships which have sailed the Seven 
Seas, none ever took more delightful cruises than 
some of those taken by the good ship Lotus 
Flower, Captain Sinbad commanding; and herein 
lies the subtle moral of this simple tale — A magic 
lamp will always work for those who know how 
to work it. 

Soon after the ship-house was completed, the 
three were sitting on the grass resting after a 
glorious game of ‘‘Catch the Tiger” and, as usual, 
Sinbad felt moved to make a few remarks com- 
plimentary to Olaf. “By the Flyin’ Dutchman, 
mate,” he said, slapping the gray shoulder, “but 
we were on a lee shore that night, though I own 
up 'at your nerve never failed ya a minute. I was 
just about ready to strike my colors when you 
swung into action with that old dog-house in 
tow. And what I says is this : if your tow-rope 
had 'a' held when that dog-house fouled the tree, 
Donald, here, would never ’a' lived to go down 


AND THE ANCIENT SAILOR MAN 209 


on his own quarterdeck, like an officer and a 
gentleman — which is why I have issued a general 
order again^ your ever feelin’ the weight of an- 
other chain/’ 

The child leaned caressingly on the dog, and 
then suddenly gave a shout of triumph: “Oh 
look, look quick ! The hair is coming back. The 
funny little baby hairs are just poking their noses 
through. Oh, goody, goody, goody!” Then 
they sprang to their feet and gave vent to wild 
revelry. And here is a good place to slip away 
and leave them, with the child and the ancient 
sailor man dancing a hornpipe, while the dog 
smiles benevolently and wags his tail for joy. 


THE END 









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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 







